


Tidal Lockdown

by Engineer104



Series: Watered Plants and Other Stories [7]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (it was actually pretty fun too), Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Angst, Bounty Hunters, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kidnapping, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, Prompt Fill, Sort Of, Star Wars References, Weird Science That May Not Be Totally Accurate, Worldbuilding, at least with season five, but rather understated tbh, so many of them too, some - Freeform, that got way out of hand as usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-16 00:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14801036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: An ex-rebel enlists Pidge and Lance to find her missing grandson, but on a planet populated by criminals and where the sun never sets, they can only trust each other...





	1. Investigation

**Author's Note:**

> hooo boy. this was for a prompt I got on tumblr. as it is, i'm not even sure it does a good job filling it. whoops?? hope anon likes it anyway!!
> 
> uh so credit where credit is due to [rueitae](https://rueitae.tumblr.com/) who helped me in my time of need when i complained that i had a Character Drama idea but my heart wanted to write action. and naturally she suggested that i combine the two concepts and even proposed a couple of important plot details. and then beta read the fic. ~~she basically almost co-wrote the fic~~
> 
> ALSO inspiration for the setting taken from Brandon Sanderson's _White Sand_ , though i promise i did a tiny bit of research about tidally locked planets too lol
> 
> speaking of, i'm sorry to say that, despite the title, this fic doesn't have any oceans in it
> 
> okay, that should be all the copious notes so...enjoy!! ~~and please validate me and comment if you do~~

Lance shaded his eyes from the harsh sun shining overhead. “Is it just my imagination, or is it _still_ around midday?” he asked Pidge.

Pidge adjusted her glasses, off which a glare shone, and tugged on the collar of her shirt as she led him through the narrow, winding alleys of the dwarf planet’s small capital and only city. “Shamsi’s tidally locked,” she told him.

“Which means…?” Lance prompted, throwing her a confused, sideways glance.

“It means its orbit is locked so that the same side always faces its sun,” Pidge explained. “Earth’s moon is tidally locked around it, in a sense. That’s why the moon has a ‘dark side’”—she formed air quotes with her finger—”and why a lunar orbit is as long as a lunar day.”

Lance blinked at her, struggling to comprehend. “I thought the moon orbited Earth,” he said.

Pidge frowned. “It does,” she said. “That’s what I just said.”

“No, you said that the moon is tidally locked around the _sun_ ,” Lance argued while tugging his hood higher over his head to keep _this_ sun from burning his face.

Pidge squinted at the numbers - or Lance _assumed_ that was what they were - written in an unfamiliar alien script on the doors of squat stone buildings. “Well, I meant Earth,” she said simply.

“Either way,” Lance said with a shrug, “does this mean it’s always daytime here?”

Pidge nodded. “On this side of Shamsi, it is, but on the other it’s always night.”

“Huh,” Lance said, crossing his arms and stopping beside her when she paused before a small house with a bright yellow door. “I guess that means no one lives on the other side?”

“There _could_ be,” Pidge said. “Matt said Shamsi doesn’t have a native race; everyone here’s a settler…and most are criminals. Apparently it was a penal colony back in the quintant.” She flashed Lance a smirk and added, “Maybe we’ve found space Australia.”

“What the quiznak is a _penal_ colony?” Lance wondered, his eyes wide. “Because that kinda sounds like an STD you get from bacteria.”

Pidge snorted. “Oh my God, Lance,” she said, then burst into giggles.

Lance stared at her, raising a confused eyebrow, though the sound of her amusement filled his chest with a warmth quite different from the one threatening to give him sunburn. But he rolled his eyes at her.

“Fine,” Pidge said, smiling at him when she recovered from her laughter. “A penal colony is where convicts were sent and set loose, like Georgia or Australia.”

“You’re a nerd about more than tech, huh?” Lance mused with a grin.

Pidge’s smile faltered, her gaze sliding down, and she muttered, “Right…”

Lance frowned, startled by her rapid change in demeanor, but asked, “So…who do you think the convicts were _convicted_ by?” He glanced over his shoulder, towards the bustling city center they’d left behind.

“Probably the Galra,” Pidge said. “I didn’t look into it _that_ much.”

“Still, that’s a lot more than I know about where we are.” He smiled, impressed despite himself. “All I know about this place I’ve learned from you and just since we got here.”

“Oh?” Pidge quirked an eyebrow at him. “Tell me what you’ve learned since we got here.”

“It’s really quiznaking hot,” Lance whined. He rubbed his eyes, the dry desert heat sapping him of some alertness, and said, “How do people deal with this?”

“Aren’t you from the tropics?”

“Sure, but I could literally jump into the ocean to cool off.” Lance tugged on the collar of the shirt sticking uncomfortably to his chest. “Imagine how much _worse_ this would’ve been if we’d come in our armor.”

“Yeah…” Pidge sighed and rubbed her arms. “To be honest, I feel a bit exposed without it.”

“Gotten used to it, have you?”

She smiled and patted her waist, indicating the weapon hidden beneath a brown cloak. “It’s not so bad when we have our bayards.”

Lance reached into his own jacket pocket, checking for his, and said, “Let’s hope we won’t need them.”

Pidge nodded in agreement, then turned back towards their destination.

Their feet crunched over gravel as they walked up the path to the tiny house’s yellow door. That was a feature here, Lance had noticed the tick they stepped out of their pod. Bright colors and intricate geometric designs decorated the surfaces of buildings, and the people - of many different alien races - wore voluminous clothes that shielded their skin from the sun with colors just as rich and vivid.

It almost reminded him of the pastel beach houses back home, or it would’ve if the dry heat hadn’t dehydrated his skin within doboshes.

“I’m going to need to _bathe_ in moisturizer when we get back to the Castle, Pidge,” Lance complained. He licked his dry lips and wished he’d thought to bring chap stick.

Pidge’s gaze flicked up to his face, seeming to linger on his mouth, as she knocked on the door. “You’re not going to shrivel up like a raisin in only a few quintants, Lance,” she reassured him.

“Pidge, you don’t understand. Here, feel how rough my chin is.” He leaned down, pushing his head close enough to hers that her breath brushed his cheek…at least until she stepped away, startled.

She stared at him, her fist still frozen over the door. “I think I’ll take your word for it.”

Lance straightened. “Fine, but if I _do_ end up wrinkling like a raisin I’m blaming you.”

“Blaming _me_?” Pidge gaped at him. “Why would it be _my_ fault?”

“Because this extracurricular mission was your idea.”

“Lance, you _asked_ to come with me,” Pidge reminded him. “ _And_ you piloted the pod.”

Lance snorted, and though she was right, he couldn’t help quipping, “Guess we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

She still eyed him incredulously, lips parted slightly, until the door swung open.

An old Unilu woman greeted them, stooped with age and with one of her four purple sleeves stitched closed. Her gold eyes darted from Pidge, at eye level with her, to Lance, and she wondered, “Who are you?”

“We’re Pal—”

Pidge elbowed Lance to shut him up - he recoiled with a roll of his eyes - and cleared her throat. “Major Tyrene? My name is Pidge, and this one”—she pointed at him—”is Lance. My brother Matt mentioned that you needed some kind of help.”

Lance frowned at her but kept silent. If she wanted to keep quiet about their rank, then he wouldn’t contradict her.

“Yes,” said Major Tyrene, squinting at Pidge. “I can see the resemblance now. Come in.” She backed away from the door to let them in, then closed it behind them.

The inside of the small house was as bright as the exterior. In the main room, the only furniture was a small, oval-shaped table in the center, around which lay brightly dyed cushions. Coarse orange curtains were drawn over windows, the fabric thin enough to allow in sunlight but thick enough to keep much of the heat out.

“Oh, so _this_ is how people can live here,” Lance observed. He pushed his hood off his head and reveled in the marginally cooler air of the indoors.

Tyrene ignored him and instead beckoned for them to sit on the cushions. “My explanation won’t take long, Pidge,” she promised.

Pidge sat cross-legged on a green-and-white striped cushion, and Lance took the blue one beside her. “My brother said that your grandson is missing?” Pidge prompted as soon as Tyrene settled into the only chair in the room.

“Yes.” Tyrene sighed heavily and rubbed at her cinched in sleeve. “He’s been missing for almost a movement, and Shamsi’s law enforcement is useless and refuses to venture into the desert or anywhere near Nighttime.” She wrinkled her nose in obvious disdain.

“Nighttime?” Lance asked.

“It must be the dark side of Shamsi,” Pidge guessed with a finger tapping her chin.

“It is,” Tyrene confirmed. “Few live there, and most that do are criminals that operate out of there. During my time in the rebellion, the criminal element eventually grew so strong they kidnapped a leader and held her for ransom.”

“Desert, hive of scum and villainy…” Lance stuck up two fingers in turn and glanced at Pidge. “It’s starting to look a lot like Tatooine.”

Pidge bit her lip, a sign that Lance was pleased to know meant she fought a smile. “A _wretched_ hive, actually,” she corrected.

“What is this Tatooine?” Tyrene wondered, looking between the two of them. “And can it help my grandson?”

Pidge coughed and said, “Sorry, Lance was just reminding me of something…similar to Shamsi.” She shot him a glare, which Lance took as his cue to be _serious_.

“So, about your grandson,” Lance steered the conversation back on topic and channeled every police drama he’d ever watched on Earth, “can you think of anyone that would’ve taken him?”

Tyrene frowned and shook her head. “No,” she said. “He’s just a little boy, and few people here even know my history with the rebellion.”

“Maybe someone figured it out and is looking for another ransom,” Pidge speculated.

“There’s been no note,” Tyrene said. “Nothing like that.”

“Could someone have taken him into space?” Lance wondered.

Tyrene crossed her upper arms and narrowed her eyes at him. “You think I’m enough of an imbecile not to think to keep a watch on everything and every _one_ that comes and goes from this planet’s surface?”

Lance ducked his head, his face hot, and muttered an apology. He didn’t look up again until he felt something squeeze his shoulder and turned to find Pidge resting her hand there.

“Are you _sure_ he was kidnapped?” Pidge inquired of Tyrene without removing her hand. “What if he just wandered away and—”

Tyrene glared. “Now you just sound like the city police.” She stood with a groan. “Wait here.” She turned and left them, sweeping into an adjacent room with an orange curtain separating them.

“Grumpy old lady,” Pidge observed, her voice low.

“ _Sad_ old lady,” Lance pointed out with a glance at her.

Pidge sagged and rested her hands on her ankles. “I know. I…” She inhaled shakily. “Missing your family is awful.”

Lance, sensing her sudden shift in mood, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tugged her towards him. She came easily, leaning heavily against his side with a huff.

“And you found yours,” Lance reminded her. “We can find hers.”

“I know,” Pidge said, a smile crossing her face.

“Also…why don’t you want to tell her we’re Paladins?” Lance wondered, pitching his voice even lower. “She probably already knows anyway.”

“The Coalition and the rebels especially aren’t very happy with us at the moment,” Pidge pointed out, “and this is a pretty quiet and criminal corner of space. We don’t know who’s listening or…” She meaningfully jerked her head in Tyrene’s direction.

“Really?” Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “You think someone would…?” When Pidge nodded, he stared at her but said, “I get it, _kind of_ , but maybe you’re being a bit too suspicious?"

“ _Or_ I’m being _appropriately cautious_ and keeping you from bragging is what’s going to save our lives?” Pidge narrowed her eyes at him.

“I would’ve introduced you first,” Lance grumbled, crossing his arms. “Green Paladin—”

“ _Lance_ ,” Pidge hissed.

“—and my own favorite genius.” He smiled and ruffled her soft hair and was relieved when she returned the smile, some of the tension leaving her body.

“Look, just…I’ve been places like this more than you have,” Pidge said, shooting a look over her shoulder and shifting away from him.

Lance resisted the urge to pull her back and instead teased, “Quiznak, you’re turning into Coran.”

Pidge laughed. “Not yet, I’m not, but let’s just be careful and finish here and we can go back to doing ‘public appearances’ where you can brag all you want.”

Lance grinned. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Tyrene returned from the other room, the curtain shielding the doorway falling back into place behind her. She approached Lance and Pidge with something small cradled against her chest in her upper arms.

“This is Hawa’s favorite doll,” Tyrene said. She reluctantly relinquished her hold on the object and passed it to Lance.

It was an Unilu-shaped doll wearing an eye patch and with bits of stuffing poking out of tears in the purple fabric. Dirt or dust stained it gray in a few places, but the single button eye was sewed securely into place.

His chest ached as he imagined a small child missing his well-loved toy, and when he exchanged a glance with Pidge he could tell she felt the same, despite her earlier suspicions.

“Hawa never leaves the house without it,” Tyrene explained with a sigh. “His mother - my daughter - made it so that it resembles his father, and he sleeps with it and plays with it and carries it everywhere.”

“And that’s how you know he was taken?” Lance said without taking his eyes off the doll’s face.

“Yes.” Tyrene took Pidge’s hands in all three of hers. “He’s the only family I have, so please, find him. If you’re anything like your brother, I know if anyone can, it will be you.”

Pidge stared at her with wide eyes and smiled cautiously. “We’ll find him, Major.”

Lance, not wanting to be left out, dropped an arm around Pidge’s shoulders and said, “He’ll be back in your arms and with his doll before you know it, even if we have to search Nighttime itself.”

* * *

“Hey, Pidge, something tells me that we’ll have to search Nighttime.”

Somehow, some way, Pidge had convinced the city’s menial police force to allow her access to the city’s equally pathetic surveillance systems, which, unsurprisingly, found them nothing. They witnessed many suspicious activities while combing through several quintants’ worth of footage, but nothing like the kidnapping of a small child.

Then they resorted to learning the more powerful criminal elements on Shamsi and searching a pattern in their crimes. Which gang was most likely to nab a child for ransom? Which group wasn’t above suspicion of trafficking in people?

(”Is it human trafficking if no one is human?” Lance mused.

“‘Slavery’ might be the word you’re looking for, Lance,” Pidge pointed out.)

In the two quintants they’d been on Shamsi and suffering its version of midnight sun, they’d found nothing…and no one.

Nothing until now, a mere few streets away from the shuttleport, where an Unilu merchant hawking his wares caught Lance’s eye.

A gold tooth gleamed when he grinned, but Lance took Pidge’s elbow and tugged him towards the merchant.

“What’ll it be?” he wondered. “Perhaps this fine scaultrite plate in exchange for your firstborn child?” He held up a dish that was glass painted a light blue.

“No, but I would like to purchase some information, my good sir.” Lance flashed Pidge a smirk as he put on his best impression of Coran.

Pidge smacked a hand to her forehead but didn’t try to stop him.

“Oh, information?” The merchant laughed. “That _will_ cost you, perhaps…” His eyes fell on Lance’s jacket pocket - on the arm of the Unilu doll sticking out. “A precious childhood toy.”

Lance’s blood ran cold at the realization that this bargaining was more difficult than he’d expected. “How about a shoestring instead?”

“Neither of us is wearing shoes with laces,” Pidge grumbled under her breath.

Lance ignored her.

The Unilu spun what looked like a teacup around a finger. “What is this information you want to buy, Paladin?”

Pidge stiffened beside him, but despite the pounding of his heart, Lance managed a laugh as he retorted, “Now _that_ ’s what I offer you.”

“Oh, quiznak,” Pidge muttered.

“Confirmation that I am, in fact, a Paladin of Voltron.” Lance pressed his hands to the table and smirked. “You won’t pass up that opportunity, right? I mean, sure, it might get me”—and Pidge, he remembered with a sinking heart—”killed, but there’s some information worth dying for, right?”

 _It would be fine,_ Lance reassured himself. Pidge was just being paranoid, and even if parading around in Paladin armor and flying their Lions was counterproductive and over-the-top, they were stuck and needed to move quickly.

“And why do I need confirmation if I have your word?” the Unilu wondered.

“Proof, obviously.” Lance rolled his eyes and thought that Pidge would be proud of him if she didn’t also want to kill him. “So you give me the information I’m looking for, I show you the proof, and we call it a day…that never seems to end.”

The Unilu considered him, grasping his chin with one hand, scratching his head with another, and with the other hands resting on his hips. Then he held out the hand that had just been on his face and said, “Deal.”

“Uh, not yet,” Lance said, pointedly clasping his hands behind his back. “Clearly I need to make sure you _do_ have the information I want, so tell me…any news from Nighttime lately?”

“As a matter of fact, there is.”

Lance glanced at Pidge.

She sighed, then nodded and said, “The damage is already done, I guess.”

Lance touched her shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Pidge,” he promised.

She rolled her eyes. “Just shake the man’s quiznaking hand already.”

Lance grasped the Unilu’s hand. They shook, the merchant’s grip firm as he said, “Been more movement than usual between the city and Twilight. Man with a respirator and wearing old Galra armor - modified, I hear - is always sighted around the darkest well.”

“A man with a respirator wearing old Galra armor?” Pidge repeated. “Interesting…”

“And now”—the Unilu’s hold on Lance tightened enough that he had to repress a wince—”the proof.”

Lance nodded and held his breath as he opened his jacket wide enough for the merchant to catch a glimpse of his bayard nestled inside his pocket.

“Oh, well then,” the Unilu said with a toothy grin. “I won’t want to keep you waiting.” He dropped Lance’s hand.

“Thank you for the information!” Lance said brightly as he surreptitiously wiped his sweaty palm on the back of his pants.

“And for one more secret, I can tell you where to rent some cheap sand speeders to get you to Twilight.”

Lance raised an eyebrow at Pidge. “I think we can take care of that ourselves. What do you think, Pidge?”

“Yeah, we can manage,” she told the Unilu merchant with a wave of her hand. “We don’t have anymore time to haggle.”

“If you say so,” the merchant said, shrugging. “But I’m here if you change your mind…”

Lance and Pidge drifted a short distance away from him, careful not to stand in the way of the market’s crowds while they conferred.

“What do you think?” he asked her.

Pidge adjusted her glasses - processing the information, Lance thought with some amusement - and frowned. “It’s a pretty _specific_ description,” she said, “and as far as I can tell, there’s no love lost between Shamsi and the Empire.”

“But…?”

“It’s the only lead we have,” Pidge said, sighing. “Let’s find some of those cheap sand speeders and—” She blinked. “This feels like a quiznaking Star Wars movie. Do you think we’ll find Boba Fett at the end of the trail?”

Lance laughed, her observation and bewilderment just enough to distract him from the risk he took showing the merchant his bayard. He wrapped an arm around her back, his chest filling with warmth when she returned the half-hug, and said, “Let’s go find out.”

(They didn’t see the GAC exchanging hands behind them, or the ‘vintage’ knickknack passing from someone lurking in the shadows to the Unilu merchant standing in broad daylight.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, back at the Castle of Lions:
> 
> Shiro: The Castle feels oddly quiet without Pidge and Lance around…  
> Hunk: Yeah, without Lance here I can actually get stuff done  
> Shiro: …  
> Hunk: …  
> Shiro: When do you think they’ll be back?  
> Hunk: Pidge said to give them a movement


	2. Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As night falls, danger rises

Daytime did not treat their skin well.

Despite slathering on the Altean equivalent of sunblock they brought from the Castle, Pidge’s face turned red and shiny, white flakes of skin already peeling from her nose. And Lance doubted he looked much better.

“What are you talking about?” Pidge poked his cheek. “You’re darker, not _red_.”

Lance touched his face. “Sure, but…huh.” He mused, “I guess whatever damage my skin suffers here will give me the excuse to do a facial when we get back to the Castle.” He waggled his eyebrows at Pidge and, hopefully, asked, “Want to join me?”

She stared at him. “You’re so vain.”

He pretended the comment didn’t hurt and instead retorted, “I'm so vain I think this song is about me, you mean?"

"If you say so?" Pidge frowned, looking confused, but then she grinned and said, "Oh, that's the song!"

"Yeah, but if the song _is_ about me, why can't the quiznaking sun hurry up and get eclipsed already?" Lance pried his sticky t-shirt from his chest. "Wouldn't have to risk skin cancer that way..."

"You _do_ know that an eclipsed sun is just as dangerous as one that's not, right?" Pidge said, nudging him in the side. "Also, Shamsi doesn't even have a moon."

"And you can stand to take better care of your skin, eclipse or not!" Lance stroked her red cheek with his thumb, but as soon as he realized what he was doing he dropped his hand, laughing to play off the gesture, and added, "I-it may be naturally clear and soft, but…” He trailed away when Pidge’s eyes widened. “What? Is there something on my face?” He touched his nose, half-expecting something to be sprouting from it.

Pidge shook her head and glanced away from him. “N-no, I just…you think so?” She touched her face where his thumb was just a few ticks ago.

“Think what?”

She shrugged and seemed to think better of whatever she wanted to say. “Never mind.”

“Pidge, what’s wrong?” He rested a hand on her arm, and when she looked at him again he quirked an eyebrow at her. “Sorry I’m being so critical of your skincare.”

Pidge snorted. “That doesn’t bother me.”

“Then—”

“You didn’t say anything that bothers me,” Pidge cut him off. When he just frowned at her, she smiled and added, “Really, Lance, it’s fine. I think the heat’s just getting to me, and…thanks for making us stop.”

They camped underneath a makeshift tent, a wide expanse of fabric propped up with a few poles. It offered enough shade to shield them from the worst of the sun but very little of the heat. It still served its purpose and offered them the opportunity to rest and nap for a few vargas, on Lance’s insistence.

He was just beginning to appreciate how difficult it was to keep track of time when the sun always sat overhead in the exact same part of the sky.

“How far until the next well?” Pidge wondered as she reached for her canteen.

Lance consulted their good, old-fashioned paper - holographic images were all but useless in the intense sunshine - map and traced the line that marked their progress. “A few miles from here.” He frowned. “Actually, it’s in Twilight.”

“Wait, really?” Pidge dropped the canteen without taking a sip and snatched the map out of his hands. It crinkled in her grasp as she brought it close to her face, squinting at it.

“If you keep doing that, you’ll need glasses for real,” Lance half-warned and half-teased her.

Pidge ignored him, then said, “We’re almost there.”

He blinked. “Pidge, we don’t know where in Nighttime they are.”

“I know, but…” She lowered the map and met his gaze. “I feel like we came by our information a little too easily.”

“It took us two quintants to find someone who could tell us something,” Lance pointed out. “How was that _easy_?”

“But once we did…” Pidge shrugged. “I don’t know, Lance. It just…something doesn’t seem right.”

“You’re starting to sound like Hunk or Keith,” Lance mused with a nudge to her side.

“Maybe if I’d brought one of them instead, he’d agree with me,” Pidge grumbled.

Lance felt a flash of panic. “You don’t regret bringing me, do you?”

Pidge shook her head. “I doubt even Hunk could’ve handled that Unilu merchant the way you did.” She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. “Besides, there are other…perks.”

Lance’s heart skipped a beat. “Like what?”

“Like…just.” Pidge covered her face and chuckled. “I don’t know.”

“Hey, you brought it up, not me,” Lance said, poking her forehead. “So tell—quiznak.”

“What?” Pidge looked up, nearly tumbling over when Lance stood and peeked out of the tent.

A large cloud of dust rose over the horizon from the direction of the city, and it rapidly drew closer.

“Time to go,” Lance said, already pulling the tent’s poles from the ground.

Pidge didn’t wait for him to speak, tugging her cloak back on and gathering their canteens and packed rations to store them back in the sand speeder they’d rented. Meanwhile Lance bundled up the tent as quickly as he could and tied it down to the backseat of the speeder.

He tugged on the borrowed blue protective goggles and climbed onto the speeder, Pidge clambering on behind him with her arms around him, and fired up the engine.

“They’ll spot us easily now too!” he yelled over the roar of the engine.

“But they won’t catch us so easily!” Pidge retorted.

His speeder activated its hovering and zipped ahead, the blood rushing past Lance’s ears with the need to evade pursuit. And Pidge leaned into him, shifting when her head turned to peer through the dust stirred up in their wake.

“If we get to Twilight, we can hide in the mountains over there until they pass!” Pidge suggested.

Lance spat sand out of his mouth, then wondered, “You don’t think these guys will have anything to do with Tyrene’s grandson, do you?”

“Maybe!”

“Then we hide long enough for them to pass and follow them?” Lance suggested, glancing sideways and catching a glimpse of Pidge in his periphery.

She perched her chin on his shoulder, her breath warmer on his face than the rushing wind. “It’ll be harder in the dark.”

Lance smirked. “But not impossible.”

Pidge grinned. “Make them eat our dust.”

Lance laughed, for that tick forgetting their mission and their pursuit and the danger that might lay ahead, and shot towards the horizon.

They sped over the sand and rough dirt, past scrubby gray plants that reached no higher than his waist and over low hills and dunes that steadily grew steeper. He almost didn’t mind the sun and the heat when he cut through the wind and wondered why he’d been so terrified that first night while still on Earth.

(Oh, right, it was because Keith was the one driving.)

“Lance, look!” Pidge interrupted his thoughts excitedly.

Lance stared ahead, his eyes widening when he took in Nighttime.

A rough, uneven mountain range marked the border between Daytime and Nighttime, but where Lance half-expected a sudden contrast between where the sun shone and where darkness always ruled, an entirely different sight met his eyes.

It steadily darkened the closer they drew to Twilight, like a natural day closing just before sunset. In fact, if Lance looked up, the sun sank nearer to the horizon with every meter they traveled.

The brightest stars twinkled into view once they started uphill.

Pidge had already mapped a path for them through a natural pass, and despite the speeder’s owner’s warning (”If you take my speeder into Nighttime, you won’t get your deposit back!”) their progress seemed…simple.

He slowed as they took the mountain curves, and Pidge said, “I think I see somewhere we can hide.”

When Lance agreed, he followed her directions, slowing to a stop in front of a cave deep enough to conceal them and the speeder in deep shadows, even if the dark of Twilight didn’t suffice.

They lurked close to the cave’s entrance from where they could spy.

“What if they had the same idea as us?” Lance wondered.

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “We can’t catch up to them if we were already ahead of them.”

Lance snorted and nudged her arm. “You know what I mean.”

Pidge shrugged. “We’ll have to hope that the dark hid our dust cloud enough and that they think we’re still ahead of them, if they were following us at all.”

Lance frowned. “You think they weren’t?”

“I do,” Pidge admitted, “but I still want to follow _them_.” She smirked at him, setting his heart racing all over again. “The hunters become the hunted.”

Lance laughed, but before he could retort a light came into view.

“They have speeders built for Nighttime,” Pidge guessed, her voice low.

The light intensified the closer their pursuers drew, and Lance held his breath when the roaring of the engines met his ears.

Pidge’s small hand slipped into his, making him jump and setting something in his chest fluttering, but before she could withdraw he squeezed her fingers.

The speeders passed with even pausing, their lights fading fast.

“All right, let’s follow,” Pidge announced immediately. “We’ll have to use our own light while we’re still navigating the mountains, but once we’re out it shouldn’t be so hard.”

Lance wasn’t so confident, but he helped Pidge install the attachable headlight to the speeder.

“I’m driving this time,” Pidge announced.

“In the dark?” Lance shook his head. “No, I’m pretty sure your eyesight is actually bad.”

Pidge crossed her arms and frowned. “You agreed we’d take turns!”

(”I’m used to driving my own speeder,” Pidge whined when Lance slyly suggested they rent just the one.

“But we need to save some GAC for emergencies, Pidge,” Lance pointed out, appealing to her pragmatism.

Pidge rolled her eyes, but he swore her face colored underneath the sunburn. “Fine,” she said, “but only if we take turns driving.”)

“Okay, fine, you drive,” Lance grumbled. “Guess we don’t have the time to argue anyway.”

And it wasn’t like he minded their positions reversed _too_ much, not when his arms fit snugly around Pidge’s waist and his heart beat against her back.

Their quarry led them on a merry chase through the mountain pass, but Lance made sure Pidge was careful not to push themselves close enough that they’d notice _their_ lights.

It only took a few vargas to traverse the width of the mountains and to escape Twilight.

Then night fell.

“I-is it just me, or is it really c-cold?” Lance wondered, shivering. Here, the wind whistled past them and bit at the exposed skin on his face.

“It’s not that bad!” Pidge retorted. “It’s no worse than night at the Garrison.”

Lance scowled. “Oh, then that’s bad, although…” He scooted closer to Pidge, relishing her warmth. “It’s not so bad like this.”

Pidge’s hair tickled his chin. He smiled, enjoying the touch - something he wouldn’t have felt if he’d been the one driving.

Their prey still had their lights on, perhaps boldly, but Pidge said, “We should cut our headlight off.”

“R-right,” Lance agreed, nearly biting his tongue.

They sped through the dark - with no obstacles so severe as a mountain - except for the distant lights of two other speeders streaming ahead of them, and the stars shining down on them.

His breath caught as he glanced up. Lance had forgotten how beautiful they were, scattered across the sky, during their stay in Daytime.

Here on the ground, his eyes strained to keep track of their path. He was glad there was very little obstructive vegetation on Shamsi - on either the light or the dark side - though it would be too easy to stop paying attention and lose the speeder’s balance. But he trusted Pidge and _her_ trust in her senses.

“There!” Pidge shouted, pointing ahead.

Lance looked in the direction she indicated.

Small orange glows hung in the air, and as they drew closer, he could make out fires and tents surrounding them. A stone well lay nearby, and if Lance had to guess from the number of erected tents, there were at least ten people encamped there.

“We need a plan,” Pidge said. She slowed the speeder to a stop at the top of a rise that looked over the encampment.

“Easy,” Lance said. It would only be a short hike down… “We just sneak down and scout around.”

“It’s not like we have personal cloaking devices,” Pidge said, leaning her head back to peer up at him. “There’s no way it’ll be that easy.”

“Won’t it?” Lance shrugged. “Let’s at least get closer, and if you really think it’ll be too hard to sneak around, we’ll retreat and make a new plan.”

Pidge sighed but, after a brief hesitation, nodded.

They left the sand speeder on the rise and trekked down the hill. Without the air rushing by him, Lance could tolerate the cold much better, but he had to force his hunched shoulders down a few times.

He still missed Pidge’s close proximity, missed the heat of her body near his. But he stayed close to her, and she didn’t move away.

“It’s like we’re on a nature hike,” Lance observed, keeping his voice low.

“It’s too dark to see any _nature_ ,” Pidge said. “I can barely see where I’m putting my feet.”

“And yet, you managed to drive us here.” Lance rolled his eyes. “Let me pretend we’re doing something normal together for one…minute, Pidge.”

“I…” Her hand brushed his, leaving Lance’s skin warm, and Pidge said, “This wouldn’t be my first choice of _normal_.”

“Well, video games aren’t exactly an option right n—” He cut himself off when Pidge grabbed his arm and tugged him behind a speeder parked at the outskirts of the camp.

They ducked low and peeked over the seat, towards the campfires and the shadows shifting around them.

Not a single figure, humanoid or completely alien, sat or stood within view.

Lance scanned the encampment, seeking some movement other than shadows shifting with flame. “Where is everyone? Where did the two we were chasing go?”

“I don’t know,” Pidge said, frowning. “Let’s see if we can find Tyrene’s grandson first, then we can figure out if we’ll have company while we try to smuggle him away.”

Lance reached into his jacket pocket to make sure the Unilu doll was still safe and secure there. “Skirt the edge first just in case?” He glanced sideways at Pidge.

She nodded. “It’s like a camp built by ghosts…”

They crept through shadows around the wider encampment, only just able to see what their eyes fell on. When Lance stubbed his toe against a platform, he bit back a gasp of pain as he stumbled.

“Lance, are you okay?” Pidge asked. She rested her hand on his shoulder.

He reached down to rub his foot. “I’m great,” he grumbled, though his toe throbbed. He leaned against a nearby crate. “Just give me a tick.”

“One…”

Lance chuckled, then patted the crate. “What do you think was in this?”

Pidge frowned. “Maybe weapons? Supplies? It looks like a pretty big group should be here, and there’s no market or even a settlement around.”

“True.” Lance straightened and stretched his arms behind him. “All right, let’s rescue a kid.”

They found a cage at the edge of the empty encampment, and the sight of the small, crouched figure within made Lance’s blood run cold.

“Hawa?” he tried, kneeling just outside the bars. He wrapped his fingers around one, wishing he could snap it in half with his own power rather than see a child trapped like an animal at an inhumane zoo.

The child shook his head.

“Show him the doll,” Pidge murmured.

Lance pulled the Unilu doll out of his pocket. “Hawa, look what your grandmother gave us,” he said. He reached between two bars. “It’s your favorite doll, the one your mother made—”

The boy finally looked up, gold eyes just like his grandmother’s gleaming in the light from the campfires. He crawled towards Lance and Pidge, unable to stand in the small cage, and snatched the doll out of Lance’s hand.

“That’s…progress,” Lance said, his heart pounding as he watched Hawa clutch the doll. “Listen, Hawa, Pidge and I are going to get you out and take you back to your grandmother, all right?”

For a long few ticks, Hawa didn’t so much as blink, but then, slowly, he nodded.

Lance sighed in relief and told Pidge, “Let’s bust him out.”

Pidge crouched at the door to the cage, where an electronic look kept it shut. “This’ll be an easy lock,” Pidge said. “It’s Galra tech and at least a few years out-of-date. Just a dobosh or two…”

Lance watched Pidge effortlessly hack the lock, a focused frown on her face. Then she grinned as it blinked red, the cage opening with a soft click.

A warm pride washed over him, his chest bursting with affection he needed to express, and he smiled and said, “Pidge, you’re such a nerd.”

Pidge stiffened and turned towards him without meeting his eyes, which was when Lance knew he’d somehow messed up. She cleared her throat and said, “I-I’m not—”

“That’s far enough,” a deep, rasping voice interrupted them.

Lance’s eyes widened as he reached for the bayard hidden in his jacket, but before he could a tall figure with two cylinders protruding from its jaw reached through the bars on the opposite side of the cage and held a gun to Hawa’s head.

“Surrender your bayards,” he croaked, “and the child lives to see his grandmother.”

“H-how did they sneak up on us?” Pidge asked, her eyes seeming to shine behind her glasses. She sniffed and said, “We didn’t see them.”

“The crates,” Lance guessed. “They hid in the crates.”

Even as the words left his mouth, more figures emerged from the shadows. No fewer than ten people of various races and dressed in the flowing robes of the locals surrounded them, with Hawa right at the center in his cage.

Lance stepped in front of Pidge though he knew the effort would be pointless. “What do you want to do?” he muttered to her.

“I’ll tell you what you want,” the figure that held Hawa hostage said. He rounded the cage until he stood before them, the respirator strapped onto his face hissing as he breathed, the light of the campfires glinting off a style of Galra armor that Lance had never seen before.

He kept the gun trained on Hawa and extended a hand towards them. “Relinquish your bayards,” he repeated, “and I will return the boy to his grandmother.”

“Do as Boris says, Paladins,” another spoke up. “Save yourselves the pain of fighting without your Lions and Castle.”

Despite the tension, Lance couldn’t help a chuckle at the name. He turned to Pidge, hoping to share the joke with her, only to see her staring back at him with shining eyes.

Wait, was Pidge _crying_?

Lance stared at her, his heart dropping into his stomach. “Pidge, are you—”

“Never mind me,” Pidge said, sniffing. She reached under her cloak and took out her bayard.

Lance copied her and didn’t fight when a henchman with a horn protruding from his forehead took his and Pidge’s bayards and handed them to Boris.

“Excellent,” Boris rasped, strapping their bayards to the back of his belt, his cloak hiding them from view. “Now that we found what we were looking for, I’m eager to return to Daytime.”

_It was a trap,_ Lance realized, his eyes widening. _Pidge was right to be suspicious_ _…_

“Just know,” Boris continued, oblivious to Lance’s internal monologue, “that the Unilu boy is now worthless to me.” He shoved Hawa back into the cage and ordered his goons to lock him up and strap it to a hover platform.

Lance frantically racked his brains for an escape plan that ended with him and Pidge safe on the Castle and Hawa snug with his grandmother, but unarmed and with ten guns trained on him and Pidge, he struggled to grasp even a single thought before it was lost.

“Don’t want to take our money too?” Lance quipped as an Unilu held his arms with two hands and cuffed his wrists at the front with the other two. “I think I have a few hundred GAC in my jacket pockets.”

“You Paladins are worth enough to any number of buyers without us resorting to theft,” Boris sneered.

“What kind of bounty hunter is above theft?” Pidge demanded.

Boris’ henchmen shoved them towards a pair of open crates. When one pushed Pidge roughly enough that she stumbled, fear that the mercy Boris afforded Hawa didn’t extend to them took hold.

Lance said, “Hey, you don’t have to be like that!”

The henchman ignored him.

“We have powerful friends, you know,” Lance goaded him with a forced smirk. “Imagine how angry they’ll be if one of us is hurt, and you should know”—he narrowed his eyes at the henchman handling Pidge—”that I’m no slouch either.”

Pidge stared at him, lips parted as if to speak, but before she could, a hard blow fell on him.

Boris himself struck Lance in the shoulder. He yelped at the pain sending fire up the nerves in his arm and might’ve fallen if not for the goon holding him upright.

Distantly he heard Pidge shout his name, right before she gasped.

“Incidentally, bruised and injured Paladins will go for as much as healthy ones,” Boris told them. “Buyers will only need to see you alive. Your condition doesn’t matter so much.”

Lance scowled at him, all pretense of friendliness gone. But he wasn’t given a chance to say anything as someone unceremoniously stuffed him into a crate. He tried to struggle and knew Pidge did the same, but it was him against five men stronger than him.

They shut him into the absolute darkness of a crate, all alone except for the uneven sound of his breathing. “Pidge!” he yelled, scooting towards the crate’s lid.

“Lance!” he heard, muffled by distance and the material of the crate.

“Pidge, are you okay?”

Before she could answer, Boris spoke in his croaking voice:

“Don’t feel too bad, Paladins. I was once a loyal soldier of the Empire. We would’ve been enemies anyway.”

Doboshes later, they were in motion again, and from where Lance sat without Pidge this deep and crowded in the dark, Daytime never seemed so far away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, back at the Castle of Lions:
> 
> Shiro: Why did we let Pidge and Lance leave without promising to stay in contact with the Castle again?  
> Hunk: I don’t know, but I’m sure it was a good idea when Pidge explained it


	3. Capture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From bad to less bad to worse

Lance quickly lost track of time from the inside of his crate, and whenever they paused on their journey back to the city in Daytime - sometimes long enough that someone bothered to crack his crate open to let in a taste of sunlight and drop a canteen in…though not let him out to relieve himself - he couldn’t resist heckling whichever of Boris’ goons happened to be nearby.

“If you left our speeder behind, I’ll be losing my safety deposit on it,” he said the first time, giving a dramatic, long-suffering sigh.

“So if his name is Boris, which one of you is Natasha?” he wondered the next.

It rarely earned him a response, except maybe the occasional reprimand to shut up and a threat that he wouldn’t be awake when they returned to the city.

Lance waved off the threats, since they had yet to follow through on them. But he wondered if Pidge heard him, or if she did, if she thought the comments funny. Then he remembered the look on her face right before Boris appeared.

_Hurt._

“Was it something I said?” he muttered, resting his forehead on his knees.

Lance wanted to ask her - the thought that Pidge could be upset because of something _he_ said or did made his stomach churn and his chest ache - but until he could speak to her face to face he’d have to keep that to himself.

So for now, escape was his priority.

Noises that didn’t belong to the bounty hunter’s caravan eventually filtered into Lance’s crate, noises from the outlying suburbs of Shamsi’s capital. He opened his mouth - hoping that attracting attention might encourage someone to investigate - but he’d scarcely drawn a breath when Boris’ croak warned:

“The more you talk, the worse your fellow Paladin will feel.”

Lance closed his mouth and swallowed around a sudden lump in his dry throat. So they’d moved past personal threats.

He leaned his head back against the inside of the crate with a dull thump, his heart heavy. He’d already upset Pidge, and they’d both gotten rough treatment from Boris and his goons. And the worse and more numerous their injuries, the more difficult a quick escape would be, and if they delayed escape, then soon they’d be in space on their way to someone intent on collecting two living Paladins.

And who knew what would become of them next?

Lance dismissed the bleak thought as soon as it popped into his head; he didn’t have time to dwell on possibilities, not while he and Pidge still had time.

It had to be before they reached the shuttleport…

Lance used what small room he had to stretch his limbs, to keep his blood flowing through his arms - despite the cuffs binding his wrists - and legs, and hoped Pidge though to do the same. He rubbed his shoulder - the pain had faded to a dull ache - and nursed every single last drop of water he had in his canteen and licked every last crumb from the wrapper of the rations he’d been allowed.

It did little to quiet the rumbling in his stomach, but it would have to be enough.

The caravan progressed steadily through the suburbs, but at a sudden influx of noise, Lance knew it was time to add to it.

“So…guess I forgot to mention that I _really_ need to use the bathroom,” he said. “And I’ve had to for…about five vargas, I think, or I’d know for sure if it wasn’t so hard to keep track of time in the dark.”

No reply, not even a scolding. Perhaps a little louder…

“Let me explain the process of using the bathroom,” Lance said, louder this time. “If one drinks water, one must also be prepared to relieve their bladder, and, well, I guess I should warn you that it’ll smell in here if you force me to accomplish that _here_.” He wrinkled his nose for emphasis, though no one could see it.

“Have I finally met the aliens that never need to pee?” Lance mused. “Really? _Now_?” He sighed, then started to contemplate the sort of lie that might get them out instead.

“So tell me, Natasha,” Lance said, “what became of the Unilu kid? I need to know to satisfy my conscience.”

Not a lie, but he’d rather leave as few strings untied as possible.

“Yeah, tell us, Natasha!” another, higher voice, piped up. “Tell us you haven’t wasted the valuable time of two Paladins of Voltron!”

Lance grinned, something in his chest loosening, at the sound of Pidge’s voice.

The caravan ground to a halt, Lance’s body jerking forward with the sudden stop, and at the sound of footsteps just beyond the crate’s lid, he tensed.

“Boris has gone to return the child to his grandmother,” one of the goons said.

Lance’s eyes widened. With the bounty hunter himself gone, they’d get no better chance.

He smirked and crouched, prepared to spring out at a tick’s notice while he fabricated a lie.

“While I have you here, Nat - can I call you Nat? - I have something very important to tell you about humans.”

The goon - ‘Nat’ - sighed. “Very well,” he said. “What is it?”

“You see, if you confine a human for long enough in a small, tight space,” Lance said, “we _will_ explode. And when we explode, we die, and I’m sure Boris’ employer won’t be happy about _that_.”

“It’s really not a fun mess to clean, you know,” Pidge spoke from nearby, her voice muffled by her own crate. “It happened to my second cousin’s husband’s uncle, and it took them _months_ to collect all the bits. And they had to cremate him! Couldn’t have an open casket ceremony at the funeral, you see…”

Lance covered his mouth to keep himself from snorting at the grotesque image Pidge painted. He wasn’t sure if he was amused or disgusted or horrified, but…

Had she forgiven him for his slight?

He could hear a few goons - including Nat - conferring just outside his crate, in quiet voices that still carried.

“… _are_ telling the truth? Boris insisted we need at least one of them alive.”

“Nothing we know about the Paladins indicates that they _explode_ if confined.”

“But what if they _do_? Relax, we’ll keep our guns trained on them, and maybe just for long enough to stretch their legs.”

“Boris—”

“He doesn’t need to know,” said Nat. “He’ll be gone for at least another varga to make sure the cargo ship’s ready, and we’ll have them back in the crates by that time.”

“Better hurry up, Nat!” Lance shouted when they all paused to consider. “I’m feeling a little too warm…”

A lock buzzed, and enough sunlight to blind him entered the crate.

Lance smiled and stood as he adjusted to the light of day. “And what about my fellow Paladin?” he asked. “She’s in as much danger of exploding as I am.”

Nat, the goon with the giant horn protruding from his forehead, frowned. “One at a time. You have two doboshes, which will have to be enough, and we won’t unbind your wrists.”

Lance clicked his tongue, disappointed but unsurprised, and tested the extent he could separate his hands. “Guess the risk is on your head then,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s hopeless for us”—he scanned the narrow, empty alley within hearing distance of the crowded marketplace, noted the goons’ weapons hidden in their cloaks just out of reach—”seeing as we’ll reach a bad end anyway.”

_Not if I can help it._

“But first, can I borrow this?” Lance wrapped both hands around Nat’s horn, jerking him down and connecting his knee to his nose with a sickening crunch.

Nat let out a strangled scream bordering on a whimper, but Lance didn't feel too sorry for him. His own leg throbbed at the impact, one harsh jolt then a dull pulse that would probably leave him with a bruise but at least didn't pain him so badly as the injury he'd inflicted.

“If that was _your_ face that just broke, Lance, I swear to quiznak—”

Lance ignored Pidge and the ache in his leg and held up Nat, who blinked woozily at him as blue blood oozed down his face. The rest of the goons - five in total - leveled their guns at him.

Lance’s heart pounded as he fumbled for the weapon hidden in Nat’s cloak while keeping him leaning against him.

“Surrender, Paladin,” said a henchman with eyes like an insect’s. “You’re unarmed and surrounded.”

“Really?” Lance grinned when he finally found the gun and held it up with both hands. “Because I have _two_ weapons here now.” He nodded at Nat’s horn. “And I may be a Paladin of Voltron, but right now I’m not above taking a hostage if it means my friend and I escape safely.”

Shame twisted in his stomach, but facing down the criminals that kidnapped a small child and now put Pidge’s life on the line made him recognize the words not as an empty threat, but as a promise.

(He’d have to apologize to Keith later…)

A gun charged behind him, and the henchmen in front of him smirked.

“What?” Lance said, his grin faltering as foreboding filled him.

“Hey, let me go, you quiznaking— _ow_!”

Lance’s blood ran cold as he slowly pivoted to see Boris returned, one arm holding Pidge against him and trapping hers, and the other pressing a gun to her head.

Boris’ yellow Galra eyes blinked impassively over his respirator, but Pidge glared at him as best she could from her height.

“Well, that’s…one way to escape,” Lance muttered.

“I already warned you, didn’t I?” Boris reminded him.

Lance’s grip on the weapon in his hands slackened, but when Pidge shook her head - so slightly that no one that wasn’t looking would be able to spot it - he didn’t drop it.

But oh, how he _wanted_ to.

“My buyer stipulated that she preferred _living_ Paladins, but seeing as there are a few more, I’m sure I can convince her to take only _one_ alive this time.” Boris took a step closer to Lance. “So who will it be? You, or _her_?”

Lance’s jaw fell slack, for once at a loss for words. His mouth dried, and for that tick he forgot all his physical complaints.

“Pidge…”

Pidge met his eyes and nodded.

She jumped.

Her head collided with Boris’ jaw, and when he stumbled back with a gasp, she knocked his face with her unbound fists.

(When did she unbind her wrists?)

His respirator slipped, and he let go of Pidge to right it.

Pidge beat him, wrapping her hands around the respirator and tugging it down.

Boris doubled over, his gun falling through his fingers as he gasped for air. Scars laced the bottom half of his face, but all Lance really noticed was his struggle to breathe.

And a light pressure on his jacket sleeve.

He turned to see Pidge already with a gun trained on the goons behind him. “We’re leaving now,” she said, shooting at one.

The blast hit him in the arm, and he stumbled backwards.

Lance shook himself from his shock and followed suit, his blasts landing true as he got one in the shoulder and another in the knee. He shoved Nat off him, then said, “Pidge, how did you get your cuffs—”

“Escape now, cuffs later!” she said, already backing away and towards the marketplace.

Lance chased after her, ducking blaster fire from the goons until they could slip into the crowd of the marketplace. “What about our bayards?” he asked her.

“Let’s worry about those later when I don’t need to pee,” Pidge said.

And then Lance remembered, his own bladder complaining. He laughed sheepishly and said, “Right…”

They ducked into another alley and took turns taking care of it while the other kept a lookout, and when Pidge finished - with his back turned to her - she took his hands with one of hers and reached into her pocket with the other.

And pulled out a Swiss army knife.

Lance stared at her. “Since when do you carry one of those around?” he demanded.

“Since always,” Pidge said. “How do you think I got mine off in the crate? Now hold still. We’re lucky these are really utilitarian cuffs.”

Pidge made quick work taking off his cuffs. After, he rubbed his red wrists and said, “Thanks.”

“It’s nothing,” Pidge said, but she flashed him a smile. “What now—”

Lance interrupted her by tugging her into a hug. His heart pounded a frantic beat, this time for a different reason, and he buried his face in her hair - which didn’t smell very nice at the moment but he didn’t care enough to pull away.

“Does that answer your question?” he wondered.

Pidge returned the embrace with a sigh. “You smell awful,” she complained, pressing her forehead against his chest.

“So do you,” he retorted.

“But seriously,” Pidge said as she pulled away without quite letting him go, “what now?” 

* * *

Their escape on the edge of one of the city’s smaller markets left them disoriented, Shamsi’s cityscape already unfamiliar and now made worse by their aches and fatigue.

Lance could no longer remember the last time he slept - except for a few shallow dozes in the _comfort_ of a crate - and between his exhaustion, the soreness in his shoulder and knee, his hunger and thirst, and the sun beating harshly down on them, it was a wonder he didn’t simply pass out in a dead faint and sleep the rest of the quintant away.

“I’m starting to think we need sleep more than we need to leave Shamsi,” Lance complained while they wandered the city, always careful to stay within a crowd.

(Though most people they passed gave them a wide berth…)

“We can sleep once we’re back in space,” Pidge said. “Right now, we need to find the shuttleport.”

Lance sagged. “Pidge, we’ve been searching for vargas already. We’re lost, and we can’t ask for directions because you’re paranoid—”

“For a good reason!”

“—that Boris the bounty hunter will find us the tick that we stop to talk to someone.” He glared at her. “It’s not about beauty sleep or skincare. It’s about resting and taking a quiznaking _bath_.”

“Fine!” Pidge snapped. “If you can find somewhere _safe_ for us to spend a few vargas before we find the shuttleport, then we can _stop_ , okay?”

Lance frowned at her. “No need to bite my head off over it, Pidge,” he retorted. “You need rest as badly as I do.”

Pidge crossed her arms but otherwise ignored him.

“And if you won’t even ask anyone for directions, who says Boris won’t have his goons watching for us at the shuttleport?”

Pidge sighed, her shoulders drooping while she rubbed her red eyes. “That’s a necessary risk then.”

“Pidge…”

She spared him the need to think of something to say when she grabbed his wrist and tugged him down an alley.

“Why are we running?” he asked, nearly tripping over his own feet.

Pidge halted suddenly, Lance bracing his hands on her shoulders to avoid bumping into her. When she ducked to hide in a doorway, he followed, but peered over her head and down the alleyway.

Two of Boris’ goons stood at the entrance, chatting with someone and holding up a datapad.

When Lance glanced at Pidge, she met his eyes, but rather than saying _I told you so_ , she said, “And _this_ is why we need to leave as soon as possible.”

Lance rolled his eyes, but after the goons melted back into the city’s crowds, he sagged in relief and told Pidge, “I see your point, but, Pidge, it’ll take way too long to find the shuttleport if we don’t ask _anyone_.”

Pidge held his gaze, then, slowly, nodded. “Fine,” she agreed. “Let’s ask someone for directions.”

After a brief conversation with a storekeeper, Lance and Pidge finally approached the shuttleport’s familiar entrance.

“Yeah, this really feels like we’re in Star Wars right now,” Lance observed as they paused to watch a variety of people flow in and out of the main port entrance. “We just escaped Boba Fett’s evil clutches - do you think he would’ve taken us to Jabba the Hutt or to Darth Vader? - and now we’re looking for the _Millennium Falcon_.”

Pidge bit her lip. “I’d take even a piece of junk at this point, so long as it can launch us off this planet.”

An Unilu clerk wearing a cap stood at a counter checking people in, but before Pidge could steer them towards her, Lance spotted someone loitering by the stairs leading up to the entrance.

He grabbed her wrist, and when she turned to look at him he said in a low voice, “You were right about here too; they’re watching for us.” He nodded towards a familiar figure with the bulbous eyes of an insect.

Pidge stared, then said, “Maybe we can sneak past him.”

“Because that worked so well for us last time?” Lance shook his head. “Let’s talk to the clerk first though and see what we have to deal with.”

“Oh, because he’d know?” Pidge raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Lance shrugged. “He’s Unilu, right? Maybe I can bribe him to help us sneak to our pod.”

Pidge gaped. “Lance, I’m almost _certain_ that it was the Unilu merchant you talked to that sold us out.”

Lance crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “And now you’re just profiling, Pidge.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “And at an air—I mean, _shuttle_ port too!” He turned to head towards the clerk’s counter.

Pidge, despite her obvious reluctance, followed, but she pressed a hand to her forehead and grumbled, “Why _him_.”

Lance didn’t ask who she meant, only led her straight up to the clerk - confidence could be the best disguise, at least in his opinion - and asked him, “We’re here to check into our pod.”

The clerk smiled and consulted his computer. “Great! What’s the identification number?”

Lance blinked and glanced at Pidge. She rolled her eyes and rattled off a string of numbers and letters - or what he _thought_ were numbers and letters - that didn’t belong to any language he knew.

The clerk hummed in acknowledgment as he entered them into his computer. Then he said, “It doesn’t seem to be here. Are you _sure_ that’s the right number?”

“I’m sure,” Pidge said, but she threw a worried look towards Lance.

He frowned and told the clerk, “It’s a small pod, colored blue and white. Obviously Altean.”

The clerk nodded and keyed in those search terms - or so Lance assumed. “I’m not finding anything matching that description, either.” He frowned. “It seems that you never checked in.”

His eyes widened, his heart squeezing in something like fear, and when he turned to Pidge she wore a similar expression to his. “What now?”

“Our pod…”

“Pidge, we need to think of what to do before we worry about that,” Lance said.

“The pod’s our ticket off this quiznaking planet,” Pidge said.

“Right,” Lance agreed, taking her hand and leading her a distance away while the clerk helped the people behind them. “But we’ve lost our ticket, so we need to find a new one.”

Pidge ignored him, instead burying her face in her hands. “It’s like the bounty hunter has _everyone_ in his pocket…”

Lance rested his hands on her shoulders. “You don’t know that.”

“What if our whole reason for being here was fabricated?” Pidge finally looked up at him, but rather than feeling any relief, her worry wormed its way into him too. “What if Tyrene—”

“Pidge,” Lance cut her off before she could speculate too far, “that doesn’t matter, and right now we have more important things to worry about. So what are we going to do _next_?”

“Let’s steal a ship,” Pidge then said, voice filled with resolve.

Lance gaped at her. “Weren’t you just worried—”

“It won’t matter once we control a ship and can get off-world,” Pidge told him. She raised an eyebrow at him. “What do you think then?”

Lance shrugged. “It’s been a while since the Castle heard from us. I think we should find a way to contact them, and maybe make sure Hawa really _did_ get home okay.”

“I still think our escape should be our first priority,” Pidge said.

“Really?” Lance raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even want to make sure we completed our mission?”

“You didn’t care so much about that when you were begging to stop for a _bath_ ,” Pidge retorted, crossing her arms.

“That’s because _you_ were insisting we shop till we dropped!” Lance shot back.

“And what if Tyrene really _did_ lead us into a trap?” Pidge said with her eyes narrowed.

“You think so, Pidge?” Lance scowled. “Because that really looked like a frightened kid to me.”

“Well, you—” Pidge cut herself off, a brief flicker of shame crossing her face, but then she spat, “Maybe I would’ve noticed that if you hadn’t just _insulted_ me.”

Lance’s jaw dropped. “What?” he said, caught off-guard by the accusation. “When the quiznak did I insult you?”

“You called me a-a n—” She bit her lip and frowned at the ground. “You called me a _nerd_.”

“So?” Lance said, waving his arms irritably. “That wasn’t an insult! I meant it as a compliment!”

“Well, it’s not a _compliment_ to me!” Pidge glared at him again.

“And how was I supposed to know that?” Lance demanded with a glower.

“I-I don’t know!” Pidge hunched her shoulders. “The name just carries a lot of baggage for me, okay?”

“No, that is _not_ okay!” Lance said. “Because now you’re being just a _little_ hypocritical.”

“Oh, really?” She narrowed her eyes. “Please explain to me _how_.”

“Do I really have to?” Lance frowned, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. “You called me a _goofball_.”

“That wasn’t—”

“I know that,” Lance said, rolling his eyes, “but it’s not just that.”

Pidge stared at him, her eyes wide. “What else then?”

Before Lance could answer, a shout interrupted their argument.

“I found them!” someone yelled. “Boris, I found them!”

“Idiot,” Pidge muttered.

“Right,” Lance agreed, already grabbing her hand and running, “but he just did us a favor.”

Footsteps stormed after them, and Lance’s heart pounded with every step of his own. His breathing quickly came in pants, his exhausted body threatening to give out, but he and Pidge left the shuttleport behind and sprinted into a crowd.

The crowd tore them apart.

“Pidge!” he shouted when her fingers left his grasp.

“Lance!” she responded, but her voice was more distant.

Lance fought the crowd, elbowing people in an effort to move in the direction he and Pidge were separated, but everyone seemed to tower over him.

He emerged into an alleyway, alone and doubled over in fatigue. He leaned against the wall, struggling to catch his breath and once more unsure what to do next.

Alone, no way to escape Shamsi, no way to contact the Castle for backup, no way to contact Pidge…

And what if the bounty hunter found her _first_?

_And the last things we said to each other were angry._

Lance rubbed his shoulder - someone had bumped it earlier - and picked a direction - one that he hoped would lead him back to Pidge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, back at the Castle of Lions:
> 
> Keith: Does anyone else feel like Lance owes them an apology?  
> Hunk: Honestly I’ve lost count  
> Shiro: He owes you many  
> Hunk: But seriously, I have a bad feeling about this…


	4. Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite chapter ;)

Somehow he returned to the house with the yellow door without collapsing, and somehow he found the strength to knock.

The sun still shone as brightly and as intensely as it had the tick he stepped foot on Shamsi, but this time he’d been wandering, searching for Pidge and even just one familiar sight, for vargas.

Even on Earth, he’d never pulled an all-nighter, not even to study for exams or finish a project, but here it felt like he’d pulled at least five in a row without even coffee to keep him going.

He wondered how Pidge was coping.

The door opened, and the tiny, old Unilu lady stood on the other side.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you again,” she admitted with wide gold eyes.

Lance sighed, sagging. “So Pidge was right.”

Tyrene nodded and offered him a smile. “He’s home safely, thanks to you.”

Lance scowled, anger giving him strength. “And I lost my friend, _thanks to you_.”

Tyrene stared at him. “What?” she said. “The bounty hunter told me he wanted you _alive_.”

Lance blinked, her assumption both startling and _scaring_ him. “Last time I saw her, she still was,” he said. “And she’d better still be. Now let me in; the least you can give me is something to drink.”

“And if you’ve escaped, you’ll lead the bounty hunter back to me door,” Tyrene pointed out, grimacing.

“I won’t stay long,” Lance promised. “I just…just in case Pidge shows up.”

Tyrene narrowed her eyes at him, then nodded and stepped aside. “Very well,” she said.

Deja vu crept over Lance as he entered the small house. There were the colorful cushions with the table at the center; he even remembered which ones he and Pidge sat on last time they were here.

“Take a seat,” Tyrene told him. “I’ll give you a varga, but then, for my grandson’s safety, you’ll have to leave.”

Lance agreed with a shallow nod. He plopped himself down on the green-and-white cushion Pidge had taken last time and bowed his head.

He probably would’ve fallen asleep like that if not for the sound of knocking.

“Pidge?” he murmured, glancing up hopefully.

Instead, the sight of small blocks balancing on the table met his eyes. Hawa stood behind it, stacking blocks one on top of the other with his one-eyed Unilu doll sitting nearby, watching.

The child peered over the growing towers of blocks, his gold eyes shy as they regarded him.

Lance froze, wary with his back straight and alert. Not that a child would pose a threat to him - despite his exhaustion - but he didn’t know what Hawa was thinking.

Hawa picked up his doll, approached Lance, and dropped it into his lap. He smiled at him, exposing a gap in his teeth, and gestured towards the three stacks of blocks.

“Oh, is that the city?” Lance asked. “And this is…who’s this?” He held up the doll.

Hawa pointed to his own chest with both left hands, then gestured at a framed photograph on the wall.

Lance narrowed his eyes at it, examining the Unilu man wearing an eye patch and beaming at the bundle cradled in all four of his arms. He turned back to Hawa and smiled. “That’s your dad?”

Hawa nodded.

“So you want your dad to take a walk through the city?” Lance leaned towards the table and stood the doll in the gap between two stacks of blocks. “Is he doing his shopping?”

Hawa shook his head.

“Is he…going to work?”

Hawa shook his head again, more violently.

“Then what’s he doing?” Lance wondered, raising an eyebrow.

Hawa bent down and picked something up from the floor, showing it to Lance.

It was what looked like a paper airplane, folded almost elegantly and decorated with orange and brown - rebellion colors.

“He’s going to fly away?” Lance asked.

Hawa nodded and took the doll from Lance’s hands. He set the paper airplane down and sat the doll on top of it.

He pushed over the towers.

“Hey!” Lance said, eyes wide. “What are you doing?”

But Hawa ignored him, just knocking over blocks until the Unilu doll and paper airplane were buried in them.

Lance watched - partly in horror and partly in fascination - as Hawa dug the doll out from underneath the blocks and hugged it tightly to his chest. He lovingly kissed its head and smiled.

_Wish fulfillment?_

Lance swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. “I miss my family too,” he told Hawa, his voice low. “And I miss Pidge, even though I only last saw her a few vargas ago.” He laughed without any humor and rubbed his burning eyes.

He didn’t look up at the next sound of a knock, preferring to mope and assuming that Hawa just set up a new game, but then he heard the creaking of door hinges followed by an immediate and sharp voice:

“You set us up!”

Lance got to his feet so rapidly his head spun. “Pidge!” he exclaimed, recovering from the dizzy spell only to trip over a stray block on his way to the door.

“Lance?” Pidge said, peering around Tyrene with wide eyes. A relieved and radiant smile split her sunburned face, and she pushed past the old Unilu lady unceremoniously and threw herself at him.

Lance stumbled back a step and laughed as he hugged Pidge. His heart swelled with warmth and fondness at their second reunion in just a quintant, and while they held tightly to each other he forgot why they’d been separated in the first place.

“How did you know I’d come here?” Lance asked.

“You wanted to check on Hawa,” Pidge reminded him without loosening her grip. “If there was a chance you’d be here, it was worth the risk coming back.”

Lance turned his head, his lips brushing her forehead without quite lingering - though he wanted them to. “Like I said, you’re such a—” He cut himself off before the word slipped out, remembering her reaction to it last time.

Pidge stiffened in his arms, but she only pulled away just enough to rest her forehead against his, her small, warm hand on the back of his neck. “Great minds think alike,” she said with a grin.

Lance smiled and wondered, “So what next?”

Pidge finally withdrew but didn’t relinquish what hold she had on him. She leveled a glare at Tyrene, who returned it with less fire, and said, “I hate to say that you owe us, Major.”

Tyrene frowned and crossed her upper arms. “I daresay that I do.”

They engaged in some silent standoff until Pidge nodded. “I won’t tell my brother,” she promised.

“You should know that I’d do it again,” Tyrene confessed, glancing past them at her silently playing grandson, “but I’m sorry I had to do it at all.”

Lance looked at Pidge.

She sighed, eyes pinched shut, and said, “I understand. I’ve…been where you are now.”

Lance took her hand and squeezed it, and even when she smiled gratefully at him, he didn’t let go.

“We can’t stay here,” Lance told Tyrene. “Like you said—”

“I know a place you can stay to rest,” Tyrene interrupted, her expression turning stern as she glanced between the two of them. “You obviously need sleep at the very least, and I swear that it’ll be a safe place for a short time.”

Lance exchanged a look with Pidge, and when she nodded in agreement, he asked Tyrene, “Does it include a bath?” 

* * *

With the possible exception of King Lubos, Lance had never met an Olkari criminal, and he was starting to wish it stayed that way.

Milo lived in the second floor of a nondescript building near the city center. In the store downstairs, she sold counterfeit tech - that, somehow, functioned better than the tech it ripped off - for a few vargas of every quintant, with the display cabinets kept clean of dust and with everything that wasn’t being used tucked away until someone asked for it.

In contrast, clutter filled every corner of her apartment, motherboards and circuit boards and who even _knew_ what stacked high against every wall.

It actually reminded Lance of Pidge’s room aboard the Castle, but without the sentimentality of photo strips or sculptures made of space junk or clumsy drawings pinned to the walls.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Milo said, waving a hand around the crowded space. “There’s a spare bedroom and bathroom for you to use as long as you’d like - though for obvious reasons I’d prefer you leave by the time I next open my stop.”

Pidge appraised the room, her eyes wide with curiosity. “And how long will that be?”

Milo tapped her foot. “I’ll give you half a quintant.”

Lance raised an eyebrow at Pidge, who nodded in agreement. “Half a quintant sounds perfect,” Lance said.

Milo grinned. “I’ll even throw in some spare clothes. Yours look rather”—her eyes trailed down to the blue blood staining Lance’s knee—”ripe.”

He smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “That would be great, right, Pidge?”

Pidge nodded.

“Well, in that case, why don’t you take the first bath?” Lance asked her.

“That would be perfect!” Milo interjected before Pidge could reply. She wrapped an arm around her shoulders and steered her towards a doorway hidden behind a green curtain. “And while you’re getting cleaned up, your friend and I can get to know each other.” She threw a glance over Pidge’s head at Lance…and winked.

Lance stared at her, then noticed Pidge staring at _him_ with a scowl on her face. He mouthed, _What?_

Pidge rolled her eyes but tugged herself from Milo’s grip. “I think I can handle a bath on my own, Milo.”

“Oh, great!” Milo said cheerfully. “Just tug on the chord for hot water.”

Without acknowledging that last bit of advice, Pidge pushed through the green curtain and left Lance alone with their host.

She turned to him and said, “So what do you want to do until she’s done?”

Lance raised an eyebrow at her, confused. “Wait for her?”

“Sounds dull,” Milo complained. She dropped onto a cushion in the center of the room, next to a table covered in mismatched wires and computer parts, and patted the spot beside her.

Lance joined her and asked, “So how does an Olkari like you get all the way out here?”

“Oh, I bribed a Galra officer to smuggle me off Olkarion,” Milo said with a grin. “Much as I love it there, I didn’t want to toil under their rule.”

“They don’t rule it anymore,” Lance pointed out.

“Really?” Milo frowned. “I suppose King Lubos is back in power? I never much liked him either.”

“Nope,” Lance said, smiling. “He was dethroned since it turned out he was cooperating with the Empire.”

“Then who’s in charge?”

“Well, there’s Ryner,” Lance explained, “plus Olkarion’s now an important member of the Coalition—”

“Ah, then I’m happier here,” Milo cut him off.

“What? Why? Your home planet was liberated!”

Milo shrugged and admitted, “I’ve made a life for myself here. If I return to Olkarion now, I’ll be giving _that_ up, probably to work on things I’m not interested in.”

“But the Coalition’s—”

“I’ve been hearing rumors,” Milo mused with a snide smile. “I hear Voltron and some of the Coalition members are having _disagreements_ over a certain new Galra Emperor.”

Lance glared at her and grumbled, “If you’re so uninterested, then why don’t you keep your nose out of Voltron business?”

“It’s good to be in the know,” Milo told him, seeming unbothered by his attitude. In fact, she leaned towards him and wondered, “What about you, Paladin? Don’t you ever wish you could leave it behind and never look back?”

Lance swallowed and leaned away from her. “Maybe sometimes,” he said, “but I think it’s worth staying.” He smiled. “For the universe, for my friends…and for Pidge.”

Milo crossed her arms. “And that’s how it is?”

“That’s how it is.”

“Milo?”

Lance jumped, startled by Pidge’s voice, and looked up to see her poking her head out from behind the green curtain. Water soaked her hair and dripped down her face, a single bare shoulder far paler than her sunburned cheeks not quite concealed by the curtain.

He tore his gaze away, heat rising to his face, and resisted the urge to stare.

“Can I get some of those spare clothes?” Pidge asked Milo.

“Oh, sure!” She sprang to her feet and padded away, leaving Lance and Pidge alone.

“What were you talking about?” Pidge wondered.

“Her history,” Lance said. “And Voltron Coalition rumors. You know”—he waved a dismissive hand—”the usual.”

“Since when is that the usual?”

“Since…now?”

Pidge snorted, and when Lance dared a glance at her, she was biting her lip - fighting a smile.

Milo returned with a bundle of fabric in her arms. She gave some of it to Pidge, who disappeared back into the bathroom, and the rest to Lance.

“Shamsi clothes are quite comfortable,” Milo said. She tugged on the hood of his jacket. “You want to throw this away?”

Lance protectively clutched his jacket closer. “Not a chance. I’ve had this since I left home.”

“Suit yourself. I’ll go prepare you some food - some _real_ Shamsi cuisine - while you’re bathing.”

Lance watched her leave, wondering what, exactly, ‘real Shamsi cuisine’ could be and guessing it couldn’t be any worse than travel rations.

Pidge emerged from the bathroom fully clothed in the colorful, flowing robes that most on Shamsi wore, a white sash securing the dark green fabric around her waist. Her eyes shone with a light, and she smiled when they fell on Lance.

“I feel…almost relaxed,” she said, running her fingers through her damp hair.

Lance returned her smile. “Save any hot water for me?”

She laughed, but stepped away when he walked towards her. “Uh, no. You don’t get to come near me until _you_ _’re_ clean too.”

Lance pouted, pretending to be disappointed, but he ruined it by laughing and saying, “All right, fine, but when I’m clean and bathed, there will be no mercy from me.”

Pidge smirked. “I’ll look forward to it.”

Lance shoved the curtain aside and stepped into the bathroom. He kicked off his shoes and peeled off his sweaty socks, his bare feet smacking onto gleaming white tiles. In one corner there was what looked to be a toilet, a sink in another, and a long, low brass bathtub.

(Apparently bathrooms looked the same no matter where in the universe you found them.)

Lance undressed quickly, eager to start scrubbing off the grime and dead skin that accumulated on his body after several long quintants. He hung his jacket and the borrowed clothes on a hook beside the doorway, then turned back to the bath.

He pulled the chord dangling from the low ceiling, and the pipes groaned as water poured from a spout and into the tub.

Steam rose from the surface, and once water filled most of it, Lance jumped into the tub - some of its contents splashing out onto the tile - and sighed in relief. His tense muscles loosened, the hot water soaking into his skin, though the bathwater already turned gray.

He could fall asleep right there without trying…if it wasn’t for the rumbling of his stomach.

Lance finished the rest of his bath quickly, using a sweet-smelling soap in lieu of proper shampoo and counting himself lucky that his hair was short and didn’t require conditioner.

After drying, Lance dressed in the clothes that Milo loaned him, tying the dark blue robes securely and tugging at the fabric. It felt soft and airy like cotton and much more comfortable that what he’d been wearing.

He nearly collided with Pidge outside the bathroom.

She stumbled backwards away from him with a startled gasp, a bowl balanced precariously in her hands. But she caught it before a single drop could spill out and passed it to him.

“It’s a curry, or something,” Pidge told him when he stirred it suspiciously with a spoon. “It has some kind of meat in it, and vegetables and spices.”

Lance sniffed a spoonful, his eyes watering at the strong scent, and said, “I have a feeling I’m going to need water with this.”

Pidge laughed and brandished a canteen at him. “Got you covered.”

Lance grinned, warmth blooming in his chest at the sight and sound of her laughing. He almost forgot his hunger, facing her like this in a setting that, despite their alien surroundings, felt _normal_.

She stood close to him, a flush in her cheeks unrelated to the sunburn, her laughter fading but her smile not faltering. And Lance desperately wanted to kiss her.

The realization knocked the breath out of him, so he stuffed a spoonful of alien curry into his mouth.

He regretted it as soon as he swallowed, the food burning the whole way down his throat.

Lance calmly set the bowl down on a stack of computers, then snatched the canteen from Pidge’s hands and upended the whole thing into his mouth. He gulped the water down, heedless of the drops that missed and dripped down his face.

Pidge crossed her arms and smirked at him when he swallowed the last mouthful. “I warned you.”

“No, you didn’t,” Lance whined, wiping water off his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Fine, I warned you by implication.” She eyed the bowl. “But if you’re not going to finish it, I wouldn’t say no to it.”

“Turning into Hunk, are you?” Lance raised an eyebrow at her as he snatched his meal back. “And not a chance; I haven’t eaten anything this good in ages, but…do you think Milo has anything like bread to go with it?”

“There’s something starchy like potatoes in it,” Pidge said, pointing into the bowl.

Lance scraped the bottom, and something thick and flaky came off with the curry-like sauce. “I see…”

He relished the rest of the meal - more cautiously and without casualty to his taste buds - and once he polished it off, Pidge showed him to the bedroom that Milo loaned them.

Tiny, with only a single mat as wide as a double bed in the center.

“So…we’re sharing?” Lance quirked an eyebrow at Pidge and hoped he wasn’t blushing.

Pidge shrugged from her place peeking out the window. “Guess so,” she said, her tone nonchalant.

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I could sleep for a whole movement.” Lance extended his arms over his head in a luxurious stretch, a groan escaping his lips.

“You sleep first,” Pidge said, crouching just underneath the window. “I’m going to keep watch.”

“Why? We’re pretty safe here, right?” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Unless you think Milo _also_ sold us out.”

“She could’ve,” Pidge pointed out pragmatically. “She left her home planet for selfish reasons—”

“You kind of did too.”

“—and hasn’t gone back since. And I did _not_!” Pidge glared. “I left against my will, same as you!”

“Right, fine.” Lance raised his hands in defense. “Please let’s not argue again.”

“All right,” Pidge agreed quickly enough. She pulled her knees up to her face and wrapped her arms around her legs. “Get some sleep.”

“Wait a tick, Pidge.” He perched on the mat, sitting a few feet from her, a distance that wasn’t much but left him cold. “I…wanted to apologize for calling you a nerd.”

“Lance…”

“I didn’t know it would hurt your feelings, but I guess that’s really not a good excuse.” He offered her a smile, until he noticed she wouldn’t look at him. He reached across that yawning gap and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Why _did_ it hurt your feelings?”

“It just…it’s been directed at me in a hurtful way before,” Pidge said. “That’s all.”

He frowned. “Oh, that’s it?”

“What other explanation is there?”

“Just…please don’t be like you were at the Garrison and blow me off in the middle of a mission,” Lance begged. “I want to understand, that’s all.”

“The middle of a mission isn’t the right time to have a heart-to-heart, Lance,” Pidge retorted, rolling her shining, tear-filled eyes.

“I disagree,” Lance said. “I think it’s the perfect time for it, without anyone else to interrupt.”

“Unless Boris finds us.”

“Probably without Natasha though.”

Pidge laughed weakly, then sniffed, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes. “I don’t _like_ talking about it.”

Lance sighed and started to regret bringing it up, but he scooted towards her and leaned against the wall beside her, his shoulder pressing into hers and sharing warmth with her. “Then…don’t,” he said. “I shouldn’t have pushed.”

Pidge shook her head, frizzy hair swinging around her face. “I-I will though.” She inhaled shakily and said, “I was bullied a lot in middle school, before I went to the Garrison.”

“Oh—”

“It was usually when I offered information in class, and more than the teacher wanted, or if I corrected the teacher, or just if I seemed to know more than anyone else.” Pidge wound her arms tighter, chin perched on her knees while a tear slid down her cheek. “They taunted and teased me and stole the dessert my mother always packed in my lunch a-and”—she rubbed her face—”the teachers were useless. They never did anything to stop it, only advised me to ‘stand up to them’.” She sneered and, finally, glanced at Lance. “A part of me was glad I could start over and get away from that, even if it meant that my family was also missing. I-it just—” She pressed her lips together, a sob escaping her.

His heart clenching and with anger churning within him at bullies he’d likely never meet, Lance wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer, letting her cry on his shoulder. He ran his fingers through her tangled hair and said, “That was awful of them.”

“I-it just _hurt_ , L-Lance,” Pidge said, her voice trembling and muffled against his shoulder.

“I know.”

“N-no, n-not that.” Pidge lifted her head and met his eyes. “H-hearing _you_ , o-of all p-people, c-call me a-a nerd is what hurt, b-because you—I—” She pinched her nose.

Lance’s heart skipped a beat for a reason he couldn’t explain, but he cupped Pidge’s face and used his thumbs to wipe away a few tears that still slipped out.

“Sometimes you belittle me,” he admitted in a quiet voice, “and it really hurts, especially coming from you.”

Pidge blinked slowly. “I-I never mean anything by it. I’m sorry, Lance.”

“Well, I didn’t mean anything by calling you a nerd, and…” Lance sighed and dropped his hands. “I’d never hurt you on purpose, Pidge. Don’t you know that?”

She nodded. “I-I know. It’s just…hard to hear without being reminded of middle school.” She smiled, her breathing not so uneven now. “Those years were the worst.”

Lance laughed. “They were awful.”

“Even for you?” Pidge took his hand and interlaced their fingers.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, grinning. “I had braces and acne - obviously this was before I discovered the magic of proper skincare - and no girls liked me.”

Pidge snorted. “Even in middle school you wanted girls to like you that much?”

“Yeah, well…lately there’s only one girl that I want to like me.” Lance’s face warmed at the admission, his heart pounding fast enough that he thought it might shoot out of his chest.

But he made sure to hold Pidge’s eyes, hoping she’d understand.

Pidge touched his cheek. “A-any chance that girl is…me?” she wondered, wearing a small, hopeful smile.

Lance leaned down with a confidence he didn’t feel, letting his lips hover just over hers, their noses nearly brushing. Her warm, shallow breaths spread over his face, and she babbled, “I mean, I-I want it to be m—”

He found his courage and kissed her.

She gasped in shock when their teeth clicked together, and Lance pulled away with an embarrassed chuckle.

“Sorry,” he said while she rubbed her jaw. “I might’ve been a bit—”

Pidge cut him off with a softer, more cautious kiss, her chapped lips warm against his. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as Lance pulled her onto his lap.

Lance withdrew first to catch his breath, then murmured against her lips, “This is why we have heart-to-hearts mid-mission.”

“I’m so glad you convinced me,” Pidge agreed before kissing him again.

This time when they parted Lance clutched her as tightly as he could, burying his face against her warm neck and breathing in the sweet scent of the bath soap. She ran her fingers through his hair, her nails scraping against his scalp, and said, “What now?”

“If I wasn’t so tired,” he said, “I’d say we kiss some more.”

Pidge laughed, the sound so close to his ear that he shivered. “I didn’t mean _right_ now, Lance. For…later, _after_ we sleep.”

Lance sighed and leaned away, his head against the wall. “Guess we chance a trip back to the shuttleport,” he suggested. “Sneak past the clerk, hope they got bored and spread themselves thinner…” He shrugged and asked, “What do you think?”

“Steal a ship,” Pidge said immediately.

“We’ll probably have to,” Lance said. “That’ll be fun.”

Pidge, to his surprise, smirked. “You’ll make it fun.”

His face warmed at the compliment, but he still raised an eyebrow and wondered, “How so?”

“Well, being a goofball comes in handy,” Pidge explained. “That lie you told _Nat_ was a pretty good application of it, I think.”

Lance grinned and kissed her cheek. “And now I’m _your_ goofball, right?”

To his surprise and delight, Pidge giggled. “Yes, you are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, back at the Castle of Lions:
> 
> Shiro: It’s been a while since we heard from Pidge and Lance.  
> Hunk: Eh, let them have their honeymoon  
> Shiro: Wait, what?


	5. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of the frying pan and into the fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> potential **warning** for a character suicide, but let me say now that there is **no** major character death

Despite his exhaustion and the sores in his body now making themselves known, kissing Pidge left Lance giddy and made it difficult for him to fall asleep. Even with her snug in his arms and drawing lazy circles into his back with her fingertips, his mind buzzed with the ups and downs of the last few quintants and with excitement about the next.

He must’ve slipped into slumber eventually, for between Pidge’s breathing evening out and his own eyes sliding shut, a _loud_ voice burst the bubble of his dreams.

“All right, time to rise, sleepy Paladins!” Milo said, throwing the curtain to their borrowed bedroom aside without announcing herself.

Lance cracked open his eyes and groaned as he sat upright, but Pidge tightened her grip on his waist, her nose pressed to his hip.

“You’re opening your shop already?”

“Oh, I put off opening as a special favor to you two,” Milo said. She rounded the sleeping mat with a frenetic energy and stopped at the window’s curtain, twitching it aside to peer out onto the street. “Just doing my part for the Coalition, so no need to thank me!”

Lance raised his hand to shield his drooping eyes from the intensity of the sun. “Right, uh, thanks, Milo…”

“You’re very welcome!” Milo turned to face them with a strained smile on her face. “Now I’m going to say this nicely the first time, because I really _do_ like you.”

Pidge sat up rubbing her eyes. “Why are you being so _loud_?” she grumbled, her voice rough with sleep.

(Lance tried _very_ hard to remember they were technically still on a mission.)

“Two men - local by the way they were dressed - came by my shop a few doboshes ago.”

“I thought you said you hadn’t—”

“I closed it after. Now _listen_.” Milo marched around them and back to the doorway. “They showed me they were armed, and said they were looking for you.”

If Lance hadn’t been awake before, he was now. He stood, tugging a wide-eyed Pidge to her feet with him, and demanded, “What did you tell them?”

“Nothing,” Milo said. “I put them off, insisted they buy something, and they left after I frustrated them enough.” She smiled unkindly. “But they could be back - it’ll look suspicious that I closed my shop up again right after opening - and you need to be gone by then.”

They didn’t need to be told twice, barely affording themselves the time to freshen up and scarf down some leftover curry.

Milo gladly provided them with travel rations and canteens full of water, and when Lance shrugged on his jacket over the borrowed - now gifted - Shamsi robes, she grabbed his arm and suggested, “Keep that off. They’ll know you were wearing it.”

Lance reluctantly bundled it up and stuffed it under the robes alongside his stolen weapon.

“Thank you, Milo,” Pidge said at the door, a grin stretching her face.

“Yeah, thanks for everything,” Lance said.

“Like I said…” Milo smiled. “I’m doing my small part, but don’t tell anyone on Olkarion. If I have a reputation there, I don’t want to ruin it.”

Milo hugged Pidge, whose eyes widened in surprise though she returned it. Then she hugged Lance.

She muttered into his ear, “If it doesn’t work out with Green, you can always look me up.”

His face warmed. “What—”

Milo pulled away and clapped her hands on their backs. “Now go! And don’t die!”

Lance and Pidge slipped out of Milo’s counterfeit shop and followed the foot traffic towards the nearby markets. As they walked, Pidge took Lance’s hand - something fluttered in his chest at the gesture - and wondered, “What did she say to you before we left?”

Lance smiled sheepishly. “It’s, uh…I don’t think you’d want to know.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “Try me.”

Lance rubbed the back of his neck and, fixing his gaze on a the blue awning shading a market stall ahead, muttered, “She told me to look her up if it doesn’t work out with you.”

He felt Pidge’s eyes on his face before he peered over. She scowled, but when their eyes met it softened and she chuckled.

“Don’t you hate that?”

“Hate what?” Lance asked.

“That as soon as you’re taken, _that_ ’s when someone tries flirting with _you_?”

Lance smirked and raised the back of her hand to his lips. “People just want what they can’t have.”

Pidge smiled almost shyly. “So you agree?”

“With what?”

“Th-that you _are_ …taken”—she cleared her throat—”by me?”

Lance’s jaw dropped, his face hot and heart skipping a beat, but when he recovered he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer. “I’m pretty sure the taking is mutual.”

He leaned down and kissed her, something soft and sweet that left him wanting more. But they stood in the middle of a bustling street, intent on evading capture and escaping an alien world.

Pidge’s hand clutched at his robe when he pulled away. Her eyes fluttered open, her warm breath billowing over his cheek, and she said, “I want—”

Lance didn’t hear what she wanted, for his gaze slipped past her and landed on the bounty hunter goon he’d nicknamed _Nat_. A blue-stained bandage stretched over his face, and his horn gleamed with metallic paint.

Lance didn’t fancy discovering what, exactly, he used to decorate that horn.

He checked that the gun he’d stolen from Boris’ henchman was still stored inside his robes. “Yeah, me too,” he told Pidge, keeping a tight hold on her hand and dragging her away, “but later.”

The activity in the city never faltered no matter where and _when_ they wandered, from the legitimate haggling at stalls selling fruits that teased the imagination to the shady deals that happened in plain sight at the entrances of shadowed alleyways. People jeered and called to each other from balconies, and children of different races kicked a ball through the street, weaving around pedestrians and small hovercraft alike.

“Do you think there’s even a _kind_ of night here?” Lance wondered. “It seems like there’s always a crowd in this city.”

“Maybe,” Pidge mused, “but there are so many different _types_ of people here - criminals and others who just want to disappear without a proper government - that it’s hard to believe they’d all agree even on something as fundamental as when everyone should rest.”

A part of Lance regretted not enjoying the colorful city so much earlier, but between Pidge pushing their mission and running for their lives while dead on his feet, he hadn’t had the chance until now. “This is the strangest first date I’ve ever had, by the way.”

Pidge laughed. “You’d consider _this_ a date?”

“Sure, why not?” Lance teased her with an elbow to the side. “We may be running for our lives and alone and isolated from our team, and you may have the most epic sunburn I’ve ever seen—”

“Hey…”

“—but we _are_ spending quality time together.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow. “And that’s your only criterion for a date?”

Lance grinned. “Maybe not, but it’s the most important one.”

Pidge’s lips turned up into a slow smirk. “I might be able to count many more before this. Are mutual romantic feelings required?”

Lance tapped his chin, pretending to consider. “Yeah, I think they are."

“Then I’d at _least_ say this whole mission has been a date from hell, according to your criteria. But is it our _first_?” Pidge nudged him, a soft smile on her face that made his insides warm. “Let’s compare notes when we get back to the Castle.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

When they caught a glimpse of the shuttleport’s entrance, Pidge dragged him into a sheltered structure where they could spy for any familiar enemies. “We don’t know who’s watching for us,” she admitted with a worried furrow on her forehead.

Lance hummed, thinking, and said, “We’re dressed differently.”

“True, but we might still attract attention just by covering our faces.”

“Plenty of people do that here,” Lance pointed out. “You probably should’ve if you wanted to avoid sunburn.”

Pidge rolled her eyes but ignored his comment. “Well…”

“ _Or_ , we can play at their game and—wait, how much GAC do you have?”

Pidge frowned in confusion at him, but reached inside her robe and rummaged through a pocket. “I have…about two thousand left?” She pulled out a few bills. “What about you?”

Lance extracted his own cash. “A thousand.”

Pidge sighed. “Three thousand GAC doesn’t go _nearly_ as far as three thousand U.S. dollars, Lance.”

“Maybe not, but it’s got to be enough to bribe the clerk to sneak us in, and if we sweeten the deal with something else—”

“And what’s going to stop him from accepting another bribe or just _talking_ about us to the bounty hunter?” Pidge demanded. “By now Boris must have _everyone_ in his deep quiznaking pockets.”

“I know, but, Pidge…” Lance rested his hand on her cheek, and when she looked at him he admitted, “I think that, no matter what, it’s going to be impossible to get into the shuttleport without anyone noticing and recognizing us, so the faster we get through and find a ship one of us can fly, the better.”

Pidge held his gaze for a long tick, Lance’s breath trapped in his lungs, but he relaxed when she nodded and said, “You’re right.”

“That’s not something I ever thought I’d hear,” Lance teased with a smirk.

Pidge snorted. “Just don’t get used to it.”

They approached the clerk’s counter, standing in line behind a few other travelers. He tapped his foot, impatient to be inside before anyone recognized them.

Pidge passed him her cash. “You’d better deal with him. If I do, I might not be so nice.”

Lance sidled up to the clerk when it was their turn. He put on his most charming smile and said, “Good evening, good sir. I was wondering if we might _check in_.” He slid the first thousand-GAC bill across the counter.

The Unilu clerk raised an eyebrow at it. “To what ship?”

“I’m not too picky.”

“And where would you like to go?”

“I’ll leave that up to you, but the more private the ship, the better, if you catch my drift.” He propped his elbow on the counter and winked.

The clerk grinned and clasped his upper hands together. “Oh, but that’ll cost you, sir.”

“Well, there’s more where that came from.” With his heart pounding, Lance slapped the second thousand-GAC bill onto the counter.

The clerk laughed. “That’s change, but let me make it worth both of our time.”

Lance leaned forward. “I’m listening…”

“Wait,” Pidge interrupted, shoving Lance aside and facing the clerk. “Is there, by chance, an old model of a Galra cargo ship that’s been here waiting for launch for at least a movement?”

“Pidge—”

She elbowed him in the side and muttered, “Trust me.”

So Lance shut up and did.

The clerk blinked at her, startled, but he typed furiously at his computer.

While they waited, Lance examined the courtyard between the shuttleport entrance and the market. The sound of rocket boosters met his ears as they faded, the ship shrinking far overhead, and people came and greeted friends and family arriving from elsewhere. 

But in the midst of it all, he spotted Nat and another of Boris’ goons.

“Pidge…”

“You’re in luck!” the clerk said, grinning.

Lance sagged in relief. “Great, so—”

“But something tells me the ship isn’t yours,” he cut him off, “which means I can’t allow you to access it.”

“Of course not,” Lance grumbled. “That’s what this _bribe_ is for.” He gestured towards the two bills already lying between them.

The Unilu clerk rested his chin in his hand and said, “Money doesn’t interest me, Paladin.”

Lance stiffened, and beside him Pidge clutched at his hand. “Then what does?”

A gold tooth glinted in the sunlight. “Perhaps something a little more…personal.” He looked at Pidge.

Her hand went straight to her glasses. “No.”

“And why not?” the clerk wondered. “Unless I miss my guess, you don’t need them.”

“They’re—”

Lance tugged his bundled jacket from underneath his robes and dropped it onto the counter before he could consider it. “How’s this?” He toyed with the zipper, sliding it up and down. “Vintage Earth wear, very sturdy, and a little worn. Might need a wash”—he sniffed at the armpit and recoiled at the ripe stench of his own sweat and body odor, wrinkling his nose—”but still serviceable.”

“ _Lance_ ,” Pidge hissed, “what’re you doing?”

“Bribing a government official,” Lance retorted. “You know, like Paladins of Voltron do.”

“Oh, not much of a government here,” the clerk admitted. “That’s why I can get away with this.” He stretched a hand across the counter. “We have a deal?”

“Give us access to that ship first,” Lance insisted.

The clerk frowned, but shrugged and scanned a card with a sensor before passing it to them. “That’s yours to access the hangar, and don’t worry about returning it. The ship’s in Bay #4 by the way.”

“Thanks.” He took the Unilu’s offered hand.

The Unilu clapped the back of his hand. “I never much liked bounty hunters. They always looked down on us good, honest hagglers.”

“You mean _thieves_ ,” Pidge growled.

Lance grasped her elbow and dragged her away towards the entrance. She came willingly, glaring over her shoulder at the clerk, so he said, “It’s just a jacket, Pidge.”

“I know,” she admitted, “but it’s…”

“One of the few things I have from Earth.” He sighed, letting himself mourn it for a tick, his heart heavy.

“That and…I kind of wanted to wear it.”

Lance couldn’t help imagining it, his face warm and a silly smile stretching across his face. “Great, that makes me feel so much better about trading it.”

“Well, it _did_ get us our ticket off this sunbaked rock.” Pidge laughed, sounding almost relieved, but then she gasped. “Wait, quiznak.” She tugged on his sleeve. “Lance, we need Galra DNA to unlock a Galra ship, even if it’s an old model.”

Lance stared at her, his heart plummeting. “Oh, and where are we going to find a severed Galra hand without facing down an angry bounty hunter again?”

Pidge brushed her hair away from her face and said, “I think I can figure out a way to circumvent it.”

“Are you sure, Pidge?”

“No,” she admitted, her shoulders hunched, “but what other option do we have?”

Lance met her desperate gaze and nodded in understanding. “Guess we’ve got nothing to lose.”

The shuttleport had no obvious security so speak of, nothing so much as a metal detector or a government agent waiting to inspect them for weapons. It made it easy to navigate while armed, but it made them more vulnerable too.

The hairs on the back of Lance’s neck prickled the tick before something _hot_ skimmed his arm.

He hissed, clutching his injured arm.

“What happened?” Pidge demanded when he paused.

“Nothing.” He gritted his teeth against the pain. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Pidge tugged his hand away, her eyes clinical on the burn in his sleeve.

“Pidge, we don’t have time for you to play doctor now.”

She pinched her eyes shut. “The first thing I’m doing once we’re in space is taking a look at that.”

“Oh, please,” he agreed, already leading the way towards Bay #4.

They melted into the crowd, only for a horned goon carrying a gun to stand in their path.

Nat sneered under his bandage. “I owe you a crushed nose,” he said, voice nasally.

Lance snorted, their urgency and his pain somehow not enough to keep him from finding something _funny_. He pinched his nose shut and retorted, “Well, I owe you a burned arm.”

Nat grinned. “Oh, that wasn’t me.”

Someone fired a blast behind him, and the crowd of travelers screamed and scattered.

Their motion pushed Pidge into Lance. He caught her against him, determined to stick together even in the chaos, and with them connected at the hand, they fought the crowd, moving opposite it - and towards Nat.

He lowered his head, the metallic paint shining in the sunlight streaming in through glass windows in the shuttleport’s high ceiling. “This horn isn’t just for show.”

“He has brittle bones,” Pidge said, tone urgent.

“What?”

“Horned and antlered mammals on Earth usually have brittle bones because they grow the horns and antlers within a few seasons from their own skeletons,” she spoke quickly, fighting to get as much out as she could. “That’s how you broke his nose so easily.”

“Gee, thanks—”

“One good hit in a sensitive spot,” she advised…right as Nat charged.

Lance never had the misfortune of facing a charging rhinoceros, so he dodged instead, shoving Pidge out of Nat’s path and spinning her around him.

But Pidge had her own gun in her hand, and when Nat pivoted and raced against them again, she pushed Lance aside.

“Pidge!”

Pidge crouched and swung the gun around like a short baseball bat.

It struck Nat in the kneecap.

Lance’s heart pounded watching her head pass a hair’s breadth under his monstrous horn as a crunch echoed through the eerily silent atrium.

Nat screamed.

It was the angry bellow of an animal that knew it was defeated, but Lance didn’t want to stick around to confirm.

He helped Pidge to her feet, and together they sprinted away, evading the blaster fire raining down on them.

“They’re not sharpshooters like you,” Pidge observed breathlessly.

“One got me in the arm!” Lance retorted.

“It could’ve just as easily been your head!” Pidge said. “Just take the compliment!”

Lance laughed, despite the burn in his arm and the ache in his shoulder, despite the air that fought to reach his lungs as they ran. “I love you so much, Pidge!”

Pidge stumbled, catching herself on his uninjured arm when he paused the length of a heartbeat. “At least wait till we’re not running for our lives when you say stuff like that!”

“Why? What better time is there?”

“A time when I have the time to properly respond and kiss you after, maybe?”

“No time like the present!”

Pidge grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him down. Their lips crashed together, hard, her teeth scraping his bottom lip and making heat rise to his face. But then she shoved him away with a scowl. “Happy?”

“Unbelievably,” Lance said with a grin.

Pidge smiled and led him on a merry chase down a narrow hallway.

They found a small, outdated Galra ship in the hangar, just like Pidge predicted. The bay doors were closed, the hangar dimly lit by electronic lights lining the walls, and the only thing that stood between them and their ride was a card reader.

Lance swiped the card through it. “This is way more low tech than I expected.”

“This mission has been very entertaining,” Pidge quipped, “but not because of the tech.”

“Not even Milo’s stuff?”

“I…didn’t get much of a chance to take a look at her stuff.” Pidge cleared her throat. “I was a little too…busy.”

Lance wondered if, underneath that sunburn, she blushed.

(He knew for a fact _he_ did.)

They stormed up the gangplank of the cargo ship, passing through the cargo hold, where they found…their pod.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me!” Lance said, pausing just to _gape_ at it.

“Never resort to theft, my ass,” Pidge grumbled. “Revenge will taste sweet.”

“Stupid bounty hunter…”

Lance led Pidge away from their pod and past a small airlock meant for trash disposal. They found the cockpit, and Pidge immediately took the copilot’s seat.

“Let’s see…” She examined the console meant to read a Galra hand print, then her eyes widened. “It’s already unlocked.”

“What?”

Pidge pointed. “It’s not red, so it’s unlocked.”

“Maybe Boris forgot to lock it?” Lance suggested, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t know…” Pidge shook her head. “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

She radioed the shuttleport’s control center. “This is a spacecraft in Bay #4 requesting permission to launch,” she said, speaking into the handheld comm.

 _“Your identification, please?”_ a tinny voice said.

Lance settled into the seat beside her and buckled up, his feet tapping in nervous anticipation of their launch.

“It’s, uh—” Pidge cut herself off with a growl. “Look, we’re Paladins of Voltron and we need to get off Shamsi right now, so either you open the bay doors or—”

The bay doors groaned as they slid open beyond the cargo ship.

“Oh, thanks,” Pidge said, and she replaced the comm. She glanced at Lance while he familiarized himself with the ship’s controls. “As soon as we’re in space, I’m going through the ship’s files to see if we can figure out who hired Boris.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

With a smirk, Lance wrapped his hands around the controls. “Now, let’s blow this Popsicle stand.”

“I _wish_ there’d been Popsicles,” Pidge grumbled. “Too quiznaking hot.”

Lance chuckled as the ship’s engines charged, its boosters pushing it off the ground. He steered towards the bay doors and out into the open desert beyond the city and shuttleport.

The boosters fired and propelled them into the air.

Pidge bounced in her seat with a startled yelp, and Lance said, “Put on your seatbelt!”

When her seatbelt buckles clicked shut, he asked, “Is it just me, or did you get deja vu?”

Pidge laughed. “Just don’t crash this time.”

They broke Shamsi’s atmosphere and escaped its gravity with a shudder, and Lance sagged in relief, his heartbeat slowing though he wasn’t prepared to put the ship on autopilot yet. “You going to call the Castle?”

Pidge nodded. “Yeah, but first…” She trailed off, a projection over her station showing a list of files with names in Galra script. She scrolled through them, muttering something under her breath.

Lance couldn’t resist quipping, “Not color-coded, huh?”

Pidge shook her head and scowled.

“Animals.”

Pidge laughed, then touched a file.

The projection shifted to a recording of a transmission, a deep, feminine voice filling the cockpit:

_“…heard of your disgraced discharge from the military and of the reputation you’ve built of yourself since then. How would you like your position restored once I wrestle the Empire away from Zarkon’s whelp?”_

Another voice, one that Lance recognized as Boris’: _“I’m listening, General. What is it you want in return?”_

_“Deliver to me a Paladin of Voltron alive; I would prefer two, perhaps three, but even one is satisfactory. Dismember the whelp’s greatest ally, and I will return to you what you lost.”_

_“Why do you want them alive, General?”_

_“That’s none of your concern; just know that a Paladin of Voltron is a valuable bargaining—”_

Pidge shut off the recording and turned to Lance. “So Lotor has enemies within the Empire.”

Lance snorted, unable to bring himself to feel too sorry for him. “What’s so surprising about that?”

“It’s affecting us too.” Pidge rubbed her face. “And Boris knew _exactly_ how to lure us - or me, more specifically.” She sighed and added, “And we have no way to tell _why_ this general wanted us alive either.”

Lance rested his hand on her shoulder. “Did you really think Lotor’s enemies _wouldn_ _’t_ target Voltron too?”

Pidge propped her elbows on the console and scowled. “I guess not. It’s just…what if next time they lure us with one of our family? What if they go after the Balmera to get to Hunk?”

“The Balmera’s a _lot_ better connected than Shamsi,” Lance pointed out. “And Matt’s surrounded by other rebels. He’s about as safe as _we_ are.”

“I know, but…what if someone with resources goes after _Earth_?”

Lance’s jaw dropped, his heart dropping into his churning stomach. “I don’t—we don’t—” He glared at the projection in front of Pidge. “That won’t happen while I’m alive.”

Pidge nodded, her jaw setting. “We’ve known it was a risk for a long time,” she reminded him. “This changes nothing, but…”

“What?” he prompted when she trailed off.

“You don’t think this escape was too… _easy_ , do you?” Pidge wondered.

“Aw, Pidge, please don’t ruin this now,” Lance whined. “We already got stuck with an alien rhinoceros charging us, _and_ I was shot in the arm. What’s left?”

“Oh, right, I…forgot,” Pidge muttered sheepishly. She reached across the space between their seats and carefully rolled up his sleeve. “Maybe I can find a first-aid—”

A blaring alarm cut her off, a red light flashing on the ship’s console.

“What does that mean?” he asked Pidge, spinning his head around and searching for a source.

“There’s an open airlock,” Pidge said, pointing to the blinking red spot on the console.

Lance sighed. “This is why my dad always said to never buy used cars.” He put the ship in autopilot and unbuckled his seat belt.

When he stood, Pidge demanded, “Where are you going?”

“To investigate. Go ahead and try to call the Castle; if I need your help, I’ll come back.” He smiled, and when she still looked worried, he reassured her, “It’s just an airlock, Pidge. I can handle a small mechanical issue, thanks to you and Hunk.”

“Fine,” she agreed.

 _It_ _’s just an airlock,_ Lance told himself as he left the cockpit and wandered down the ship’s narrow hallway towards the rear cargo hold. His heart pounded, and he had to breathe deeply to keep calm. _It_ _’s not like I almost got sucked out of one once._

Red lights in the ceiling blinked, signaling his progress, and he found the airlock near the cargo hold with its inner door open.

“What the quiznak?” Lance muttered, stepping closer.

A crowbar held it open, wedged into the door’s track and with sparks flying as the airlock tried to slide shut over it.

He grabbed the crowbar, but before he could pull it out something inside the airlock caught his eye.

“What the _quiznak_?”

It was his _jacket_ , what he thought left behind on Shamsi. 

He glanced up and down the short hallway, unsure what, exactly, he looked for. His hands trembled, and a part of him wanted to yell for Pidge. But he could handle it; it was just his jacket and a broken airlock.

Lance stepped over the threshold and bent down, but when his fingers grasped the bundle, the scraping of metal on metal grated against his ears.

He shot upright, jacket forgotten as he fumbled for the gun hidden under his clothes.

“H-hey!” he shouted, right as the airlock’s freed door silently slid closed.

A tall Galra man wearing a respirator stood on the other side of the thick glass, watching Lance without expression.

“Not again!” Lance stumbled towards the door and kicked at it - uselessly.

A speaker inside the airlock crackled into life, and Boris’ croaking voice spoke, “I suppose I should apologize, but I have no need for you alive if I have your friend.”

Growing more and more frantic, Lance pounded on the door with his fists. “Pidge!”

“It’s not personal,” Boris said. “It could’ve just as easily been her in there.”

Hot tears slid down his face, the fear that Pidge would be at the mercy of Boris and the monsters who hired him overtaking the fear he had for himself. He found the button that would let him speak with his enemy and pressed it.

“I-I know the Empire abandoned you,” Lance said, fighting to keep the trembling from his voice. “Why should you work for them?”

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Boris retorted. “You have your place; I’m still searching for mine.”

Lance swallowed, but he didn’t have the time to mince words. “Ha, maybe I understand better than you think. Sure, I don’t have a handicap, but I’m surrounded by people more talented than I am at some things.” He wiped his eyes. “And you know what? That’s okay.” He met the bounty hunter’s eyes. “They’ll make room for me, and I don’t even have to ask.”

“The Empire—”

“Oh, _screw_ the Empire!” Lance said. “They’re the reason you’re here! First you sacrifice your health for them, then they abandon you! What do you owe them?”

Boris lowered his respirator, revealing the nasty burn scars crossing his face. “My loyalty,” he rasped.

“And for what?” Lance glanced over his shoulder, eyes wide as he imagined the yawning maw waiting for him just beyond the airlock. “But, you’re in luck,” he added, thinking fast. “That was the _old_ Empire under Zarkon.” He grimaced and admitted, “Things are different under Lotor.”

He turned back towards Boris to see him replace his respirator.

“Lotor is nothing like Zarkon,” Boris said, closing his eyes.

Lance couldn’t bring himself to be relieved just yet. “Right, which means—”

Boris lurched away from the door.

“Wait, no, no, Boris!” Lance shouted, pushing all his weight into the comm button. “We can talk about this, man! But if you touch a single quiznaking hair on Pidge’s head—”

The speaker burst with static again, and a frantic voice said, “Lance, are you all right?”

Lance sagged against the airlock door. “Pidge,” he breathed. “I’m—”

“Hold on, I’m about to let you out.”

Lance fell backwards when the airlock slid open, laughing in breathless relief. He rested a hand over his slowing heart and grinned at Pidge when she stood over him.

“Look what I found,” he said, raising his other hand and showing her his jacket, which he’d forgotten in his panic.

Pidge rolled her eyes, but she offered him her hand. He took it and struggled to his feet, gasping in surprise when she wrapped her arms around him and pulled her tightly against her.

“The Castle’s on its way,” she whispered.

“Thank _God_ ,” Lance said, the tension leaving his body at the hope that soon he would reunite with the rest of the team and collapse in his own bed.

(Or Pidge’s. He wasn’t too picky, so long as she was there too.)

“Where’s our dear friend Boris?” Lance asked, stepping away from Pidge without letting her go.

Pidge nodded towards the floor, towards a crouching figure clutching at his elbow - a weak point in his old armor.

“Nice shot,” he told her, smiling.

“Thanks.” Pidge grinned.

They approached Boris, who knelt with his eyes downcast and his posture defeated.

“So…if you surrender properly, we can introduce you to Emperor Lotor, in the flesh.” Lance smiled hopefully at him.

Boris glared up at him, hatred in his eyes. “No.”

“What do you mean _no_?”

“Then you’ll be our prisoner,” Pidge said.

“That is not my preference,” Boris said.

“You’re not in a position to make demands,” Pidge retorted, crossing her arms. “You should’ve brought your goons if you wanted an edge on us.”

“They were locals,” Boris explained, tone halting and weak. “They weren’t obligated to follow me once I’d paid them. Only Mizer, who wanted payback.”

“Mizer?”

“He must mean Nat,” Lance guessed.

“Then what _is_ your ‘preference’?” Pidge wondered.

Boris slowly got to his feet.

Lance stepped between him and Pidge, who pointed her gun around him at the bounty hunter. “Got any cuffs?” he asked her.

Boris reached behind him, underneath his cloak, and threw two objects down on the floor.

Their bayards winked up at them.

Lance stiffened, unsure what Boris attempted. “If this is another trap—”

“There is no more trap,” said Boris. He hobbled towards the airlock, a tight grip on his arm, and stepped inside.

Lance watched with a dawning horror. “No, man, don’t do that.” He lurched towards the door, but it slid shut in his face.

“W-what’s going on?” Pidge asked.

Lance yanked on the airlock’s door handle, stomach roiling with nausea at the reversal of their positions. “No, no, no—”

Boris tugged down his respirator. “Victory,” he croaked, drawing in a single, harsh breath, “or death.”

The airlock opened on the other side, and the vacuum of space stole another life.

Lance stared disbelievingly, waiting for their enemy to reappear inside the airlock once it sealed shut again. He finally yanked the door open and stumbled in, but nothing - not even the respirator - stayed behind.

“Lance…”

He rejoined Pidge in the hall and swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Is it weird that I want to mourn him?” he whispered.

Pidge wrapped her arms around him. “Maybe,” she admitted, “but your heart’s bigger than mine.”

He buried his face in her hair and inhaled her scent, grounding himself in it.

But the moment passed, and Lance rested his forehead on hers. He smiled at Pidge - pleased that he meant it - and said, “Let’s go home.”

Pidge grinned. “But first a little piece of it…” She slipped away from him and picked up his discarded jacket. “This smells awful, by the way.”

“Well, nothing can smell half so sweet as you.”

Pidge laughed, the lightest blush tinting her red cheeks darker, and shrugged on Lance’s jacket.

A familiar and welcome voice burst through the ship’s speakers:

_“Unidentified Galra craft, please state your intentions.”_

_“Are you_ sure _that ship is Galra, Princess? It_ _’s not one we’ve ever seen before…”_

_“Look at the colors, Coran. What else could it be?”_

Lance raised an eyebrow at Pidge. “I thought you said you contacted the Castle.”

Pidge shifted her feet and confessed, “I might’ve forgotten to mention that we’re in an old Galra ship…”

Lance chuckled and took her hand, interlacing their fingers. “Well, let’s go reassure them before they blow us up. I think I’ve had enough action escaping that Sarlacc Pit of a planet without adding ‘death by friendly fire’ to the list.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, on the Castle of Lions:
> 
> Shiro: We should’ve checked on them sooner  
> Hunk: Yeah we really should’ve
> 
>  
> 
> ~~aka me handwaving a Plot Convenience and poking fun at myself as a writer~~

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it!! feel free to come yell headcanons (of the gen or the plance-y variety) at me on [tumblr](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/)


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